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THE MASTER OF THE GUNNERY 






>%^" 







TMF, MASTKR OF THE OUNNKRV. 




THE 



MASTER OF THE GUNNERY 



A MEMORIAL OF 

FREDERICK WILLIAM GUNN 



BY HIS PUPILS 



•TO HFA.P THE YOUNG SOUL, ^DD ENERGY. INSPIRE HOPE, AND BLOW THE COALS 
INTO A USEFUL FLAME,- TO T{EDEEM ^DEFEAT 'BY NEW THOUGHT, BY FIRM 
■ ACTION, THAT IS NOT EASY, THAT IS THE WORK OF -TIlylNE MEN."— EMERSON 



SHufifmitcD 




NEW- YORK 
THE GUNN MEMORIAL ASSOGIATION 

1887 



n^ 



^GC 



Copyriglit. 1887, 
Rv William Hamiiton Cibson. 



The De ViNNE Press. 



CONTENTS 



IXTRODUCTION 

By William Hamilton Gibson. 



I, Old Times in Judea. 

Hv Gkoroe a. HicKiix. 

WASHINGTON, HISTORICAL AND 1 0I'> IGRAI'HICAI, — TOWN DKMOCRACV — THK BRINS- 
MADES — DEMOCRATS AND FEDERALISTS — MANNERS AND CUSTOMS — CHURCH ARCHI- 
TECTURE AND MUSIC — TEMPERANCE — TRAINING-DAY— PURITAN FUN — THE CHURCH 
AND SLAVERY — THE LIBERTY PARTY — REV. GORDON HAVES AND ABBY KELLY — 
INFLUENCE OF CONFLICT ON MR. GUNN's CHARACTER 



II, Eari.v Liee and Stru(;(;i.es. 

By Orvili.e H. Pl^tt. 

the gunn family— early training — youthful anecdotes — college career — 
athletic training — return to washington — aimless life — praciical jokes — 
medicine as a profession abandoned — teaching in new preston and washing- 
ton—the antisi.avery crisis— mr. gunn becomes a leader — stigmatized as 
an abolitionist and an infidel — the underground railroad — free thinking — 
return to new preston — the parson hayes episode — the towanda school — 

COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE— RETURN TO WASHINGTON — SUMMARY OF MR. GUNN's 
CHARACTER 



Mr. Gunn as the Citizen. 
By Ehrick. K. Rossiter. 

MUTUAL RELATIONS OF WASHIN(;TON AND I HE GUNNERY — EFFECT OF MR. GU.NN'S 
MARRI.\GE — INFLUENCE IN TOWN MEETINGS— AGGRESSIVE TEMPERANCE— INSTANCES 
OF HIS KINDNESS— AMUSEMENTS FOR HIS TOWNSMEN — GUNNERY RECEPTIONS — SCHOOL 
EXHIBITIONS — THE VILLAGE LIBRARY — DRAMATIC ASSOCIATION -— RELATIONS WITH 
THE CHURCH 



IV. Mr. Gunn as the School-master. 
By Clarence Deminil 

HIS SCHOOL A MLMIC REPUBLIC — ITS ENVIRONMENT — CHARACTER-BUILDING — SCHOOL 
EXERCISES AND DISCIPLINE — INCIDENTS — TRUTH AND TEMPERANCE — GROTESQUE 
PUNISHMENTS AND THK PHILOSOPHY OF THEM — MILITARY DRILL .... 



19 



47 



61 



cox TEXTS. 



v. GlXXKRV Sl'ORTS. 

HV ClARKNlK DE.MIM 



KXKRCISK AN ACKNCY IN CHARACTKR-Hl'l l.DINC — THE PKIMITI VK i;. 
MODKKN KASE-BAl.I. — THE WASHINGTON NINE — LOCAL INTKRKST 
MATCH GAMES — FOOT-I!ALL — " ROI.V BOLV " — COASTING — FISHINl 
IIROOK — SHOOTING — CAMPING OUT AT STEEP ROCK, WELCH'S POINI, 
ANIi HAWES' POINT— M.TMNI REINIONS 



OK " liASI, - 

IHE GAME- 

\- LAKE AN 

.' 1 IIEAI Tiiai 



8l 



y\. TUV. HOME-I.IFK 



Hv James P. Plate. 



THE GCNNERY A TRUE HOME — THE FATHER, THE JCD(;E, A.ND THE- MEDIATOR — 
SCENES IN THE FAMILY-ROOM — WINTER READINGS — THE "HEXIE" — DORMITORIES — 
BEDSIDE CONFIDENCES — THE TOWER — MR. GUNN's READINGS — " PUG " — THE DON- 
KEYS — STUDY OF NATURE — -'AUNT BETSY" — YOUNG-LADY ASSISTANTS — THE FAMILY 
MEETING — THE l.ROVE — "SCHOOL WALKS" — MR. GUNN's RELIGIOUS NAIURE — 
SUNDAYS 



\'II. L.vsT D.ws .\xi) I..\sT Rites. 
ISv Hknrv W. B. Howard. 



MR. GI'NN S FAILING HEALTH, LAST ILLNESS AND L>RATH — THE FUNERAL — THE 
MEMiiKIAI. ASSOCIATION — UNVEILING OF THE MONUMENT^ ADDRESSES OF CLARENCE 
DKMLNG AND HENRY WARD BEECHER — THE MEMORIAL VOI.U.ME 



\'III. Mr. Gl'x.n's Written Works. 



SLAVERY AS SEEN AT THE SOUTH — SPRING-TIME — INFALLIBILITY OF THE BIBLE — LIV- 
ING ISSUES I.N THE LIGHT OF DUTY — NATURE OF A TRUE CHURCH — MORAL SELF- 
RELIANCE — THE GRE.VT DOCTRINES — TESTS OF CHRISTIAN CHAR.\CTER — VIEWS OF 
SALVATION — PRAYER — FAITH A QUALITY OF THE HEART — LIFE AND DE.\TH ; TIME 
AND ETERNITY — CREEDS — TEMPERANCE IN POLITICS — FRIENDS LO.ST BY HONEST 
WORDS — ALLEGIANCE TO TRUTH — THINKING AND TINKERING — SCHOOL DISCIPLINE AT 
TOWANDA — THE " COl.OR-LI.NE " IN SCHOOL — ROGERS AND CARLVLE — EMERSO-N AND 
CARI.YLE — love's TRAINING FOR LIFE'S DUTIES — THOUGHTS ON A SNOWY SABB.ATH — 
A PASTOR.\I. SY-MPHONY — ITALIAN LIBERTY — SHELLEY — FRAC.MENIS — coNFIIiENCr 
BETWEEN BOYS AND TEACHERS 



141 




ILLUSTRATIONS 



DRAWN BY WILLIAM HAMILTON GIBSON 

1. The Master of the Gunnery Frontispiece 

I'dKTRAiT OF Frederick William Glin.n. 

2. Tail-piece '\' 

Whkre thf. Trout L.ikks. 

3. A Corner of the Gunnery viii 

4. Tail-piece >:v 

A SlNXY SLOI'K. 

5. A Bn<D's-EYE View xvi 

6. Initiai I 

T'liK Town Records. 

7. \Vasiii\(;ton, from Canfield's Hill, 1887 .... 3 

8. Lake Waramaug 5 

9. JuDEA Meeting-house 7 

10. On the Shei'aug 9 

11. \Vakamau(;, from the Noklh n 

12. The Old North Road 13 

13. A Glimpse on the Mallorv Roah 15 

14. Banks of the Shepaug 17 

15. The Ordeal 18 

16. Initial 19 

ki 1 US OF Slavery and the War. 

17. Mu. Gunn's Birth-place 21 

.\ KES|r)R\TION FROM DESCRIPTION. 

18. Sauntering-grounds 23 

19. A Trout Stream . 25 

20. Duck-hunting on the Shepaug 27 

21. The "Running Brook" 30 



vi ILIA'STRATIOXS. 

22. The (iixNKRV OF THE Olden Ti.me, Viewed from itie CiRove 3-1 

l-KciM AN r.AKl.V SKI Ic 11 |;V Tni )M A'. SMAI.KS. 

23. The Old Academ\ <>\ ihe Greek n 

A Rkmouaiiiin. 

24. Gl[.\n'se from a (;l.\xer\' Window 40 

25. The Towan'da Academy in i<S49 42 

Rl-.SIDKKll 1-ROM I'iKiroCKAI'HS. DkAW-\ IIV F. \". Dl MiiM). 

26. The Ruxnei. below the (iUnnerv ...... 44 

27. "AuT Pax, Aut Helll.m " 45 

CkISI OI' IllK C'lAN GlNN. 

28. The Ri\ER-r..\xK 46 

29. IXITIAl 47 

Till-: I'll.l.AK AM> HIE Vl.NK. 

30. Washington Greex 49 

F'rom A PiiOTOi-.RArn v.\ Thomas Sm\i.f.s. 

31. Old Hai'xts 51 

Mii.i.-w A 1 1 n AiiiiVK. iiiK Sawmill — " I'm-; Hkmi.olks " — Hei.iiw ihk Lkugf.s, 

WkSIKKN Sldl'l', .\ (IKASSV Ri.)Ali — I'AM'UKK-LOr llROOK. 

IZ. LcioKIXG ToW.\RD THE VALLEV FKO.M THE GrEEX ... 53 

II. Ox Hell Hill ■ ■ • 55 

34. A .Side-hill xear the Glxxerv 57 

35. The R(i\iii'r\' Road ......... 58 

36. An (Ji.d I.and-mark 59 

l]. Chur( II Hill I'lvie.u' 60 

3S. Initial 61 

■• .\s 1 III-: Tuk; is Hkn r." 
39. 1'"AMIL1AR OUTLIXES ^'^f 

40 Near "Kirbv Corxers" 65 

41. A Kfsori for 1'exaxce 67 

KlKin ( iiKNlKS. 

42. A " Waii.ix(;-I'I..\( E " 69 

Jiud's liKiiii;i . 

43. I'ENi lEN ri.\L Memories of Moody Harx 71 

44. BLTTERFLN HlNIERS -JT^ 

45. 'I'KAMITXO (iROUXDS j-j 

HwKs i>i Wakammc. 

46. Tail-piece So 

Tin Cai' ami lU'iM.i-.. 

47. In III A 1 81 

I III TUCII.S OF SlMlKI. 

48. Over the Hl.m k Ice 82 

49. A Hall Maicii 83 

From an i-.aki.v I'ihuocrai'Ii. 



I L LUSTRA JVO.y.S. y[\ 

50. A Path v.y iiik Lake 85 

51. A Winter Munt 88 

52. Steep Rock . 90 

53. "We Went a-Gii'svinc " 91 

54. "Cami' Cdmfoki'," ai' Old Milford 93 

55. Gr.NNEKV Cami' at I'dixT Heautiflm 94 

56. The Last Camitnc^-grulnd 95 

Hawi-.s' I'diM, Waka.maii;. 

57. Samson's Rock .......... 96 

58. "A TkVSTING-IM.ACK FOR Two " 97 

59. The Rabbfi' Tr.\i' 99 

60. Hare and Holnds 100 

61. Ox THE Road to the River loi 

62. Mitchell's Hole 102 

6^. Tail- piece 103 

TiiK P.\TiKNT Friends of ai.i. thk Bovs. 

64. On Bee Brook 104 

65. The Mother of the (iuxNERV 106 

PoKTKAiT OF Mrs. C.unn. 

66. Lnitial 107 

TiiK " Bird's Xksi." 

67. The GUiNNERV in 1880 109 

68. Studying from Nature .\xd from Books . . . iii 

.\ Boys' Bedroom. 

69. In the Tower 113 

70. The Bonfire in the Grove 115 

71. A Slope on the Brinsmade I-".\rm 117 

RiBV Pasture. 

72. "Amy's Grotto" 119 

yS- Rememberixc; the Birds 123 

74. Tail-piece 126 

Pi..\Tr's D.\M. 

75. Lnitial 127 

The Feickerim; Feame. 

y6. " F"l\is " 140 

yy. Tail-piece 179 







,Jl 



/"" 



■7f' 



INTRODUCTION 



As I conclude the final reading ot the various chapters in this memorial 
tribute to our noble friend and preceptor I may confess that beneath 
all my sincere and sympathetic appreciation there lingers a prevailing- 
sentiment of regret not altogether unselfish ; regret first that the sub- 
division and apportionment of the labor, so necessary in the preparation 
of a work ot this kind, has left me no appropriate opportunit)- to add my 
own fund oi reminiscence, or fitting acknowledgment of my own great 
debt of gratitude. True, there would seem to be little that mere words 
could express, which has been left unsaid, and yet how proudly could I 
have seen my name numbered among those who have unconsciously 
honored themselves in their eftorts to honor him ; for who that knew 
Mr. Cninn shall deny the privilege of his friendship and companionship, 
or question the pardonable pride to be known as one among those he 
loved ? But there are deeper, and to the reader more momentous, regrets 
which must follow my pen as I fulfill this last obligation in a labor of love ; 
regrets that destiny should after all have appointed my hesitating pen to 
fill the s])ace reserved for another whose name has alwajs been associated 
witli this initial portion of our volume — a friend who had gladly pledged 
himself to do honor to the name of him we mourn. But, alas ! he too has 
been called to the Beyond amid the mourning of a nation. 

It is not necessary here to revert to the fact that the Rev. Henry 
Ward Beecher stood in the relation of close friendship to Mr. Gunn. 
When the present volume had so far advanced as to insure promise 
ot its early completion, I called upon Mr. Beecher with a view of securing 
what I had ample reason to believe would be his willing cooperation. 
The general plan and scoi^ie of the hook were submitted to him, together 
with proofs of such engravings as were at hand. His interest and 
delight in the scheme were manifest trom the beginning, and as the con- 



X 



IXTKODl'C'IIOX. 



versation was shapc-d toward the jjoint of m\- crraiul. I shall not forget the 
ready response of his e\-e, hy which he almost anticipated my request for 
an introduction from his \)cw. "I'll do it glailU," he said; "he was a 
lather to my hoys"; and then with a thoughtful air and mysterious smile 
he resumed, " I'll do it, and 1 know just how I'll begin it." 

It was with a light heart that I walked home that evening, leaving the 
Plymouth pastor absorbed in the perusal of those stirring, prescient 
paragraphs now incorporated in our chapter of " Mr. Gunn's Written 
Words." 

How we waited and longed for the fLilhllment of that promise of Mr. 
Beecher those most interested in this volume well know ; but multiplied 
cares, emergencies and responsibilities in other matters demanded prece- 
dence. Meanwhile the book had neared completion. At length I hesi- 
tatingly concluded to l)ring the matter once more to his mind. On the 
following Friday evening after prayer-meeting an occasion presented itself, 
but ere I could e\'en utter a greeting he singled me out. "Yes," .said he, 
with a deprecating smile and outstretched hand, " I know just what you're 
going to sa\- ; it is on my mind too, and I'm going to send you that intro- 
duction \'er_\- s(_)on." 

Later again, on Ijeing told, in answer to his inquirw that the book was 
reatly to go to press and only awaited his contribution, he replied: "All 
right, 1 will write it to-morrow." 

No one of us doubts that had the morrow oi his thought ever dawned 
liis welcome words wmdd have been here in this void to-day. But the 
morrow found him without the power to write, and the bitter experiences 
of those few remaining tlays are still fresh in the memory of us all. 

How much we have lost in the absence of his words we can but faintly 
conjecture. Those of us who remember the intercourse between these 
two congenial spirits, — the jocund rivalry of humorous incident and anec- 
dote and, above all, the hours of seclusive, earnest communion in the woods 
and l)\\va\s, wrajn in the iliscussion of \ital themes — the problems of 
liumanity, of the Church, and of deep Christian experience, — when we 
recall these, with the many incidental flashes of enthusiasm, wisdom, and 
eloquence, remembering also the man\- high estimates of the inner life of 
Mr. Gunn which have fallen from Mr. Beecher's lips, we ma\- picture 
somewhat of the natmx-, if not the extent, of our deprivation.* 

* Our pages, however, arc still greatly indebted to Mr. Beecher for his memorial address 
delivered on the occasion of the unveiling of tlie monument to Mr. Gunn on the first anniversary 
of his death. This address has been appropriately included in our closing chapter, "Last Days 
and Last Rite^." The writer hesitates to quote from it or anticipate it in any way, preferring to 
commend it to the reader in its entirety as a fitting climax to the litcr;i.ry interest of the volume. 



INTRO ni'CTIOX. xi 

I remember, as a bo)-, happening upon these two in a secluded nook 
among the trees. They were engaged in earnest conversation, upon the 
theme of the future life, if I remember rightly ; but the memory of their 
earnestness is vivid, as also is the picture of their companionshi|>, as with 
joined hands they strolled homewards through the woods, — an incident 
which has always been accepted by me as an outward token of a deeper 
affinity of heart and spirit, — an episode which, in the light of our bereave- 
ment, now bears a still more beautiful impress. 

It is not my province nor my intention, though it be my temptation, 
to anticipate here the spirit and the story of the following pages, but 
a little indulgence may, perhaps, be allowed to one who has been called 
to indite an introduction to a memorial which bears close kinship in senti- 
ment to an ol)ituar\- of his own father; for teacher, master, disciplinarian 
though he was, with deeper truth was Mr. ("lunn our counselor, our play- 
mate, our friend, companion, and father. 

.\mong the reminiscences which reverie delights to ])aint there is one 
eloquent picture which is always mine, and which 1 recall here because it 
di.scloses the secret of the hoKl which this uni(|ue school-master retained 
upon his pupils. 

It was upon the occasion of the first reunion of the ("iunner\- alunmi, 
who hail flocked from far and wide to clasp the hands of Mr. and Mrs. 
(junn and to revive once more the precious ties ot school-days. There 
had been a week of joyous sport and reminiscence. The final evening 
had drawn to a close, and all were waiting for a few parting words 
from their old preceptor to carry with them on the morrow. He rose to 
speak, but hi- who had faced many a formidable foe without a tremor and 
had never known a conqueror, now found a master within his own breast. 
I shall never forget the painful suspense with which we listened eagerl)- 
and long for the first word, but the swelling heart found its only expres- 
sion in his features as the hot tears welled up and fell. " It is no use," 
he whispered at last, in a voice broken with emotion, " I cannot speak — 
I love you all." 

With the memory of this incident before us, with all that it implies of 
boyhood's hap|jy heritage, and ot the dear companionshi|j of .Mr. ( iunn 
which made it what it was, how are we tempteil to let fall our [len, and, 
like him, seek recourse from our discouragement in the simple sigh. How 
we loved him ! 

As an element in that companionshijj m\- |>resent task were certainly 
incomplete without a briei allusion to a striking characteristic of Mr. 
Gunn which is perhaps too slightly dwelt ujjon in our pages — his lov(_- of 



^ii INTRODUCTION. 

Nature; tor in the ranks of the seers of Natin-e he realized to the lull that 
discriminative test of eligibility conceived by the poet of W'alden, who 
claimed that it required "a special dispensation of Providence to be a 
walker." Those walks with Mr. Gunn. the rides, the (luest for the first 
anemones or arbutus; the woodland strolls, when the faintest perfume 
brought its recognition of an unseen presence among the blossoming 
herbage, when the veriest chirp, or even the flutter of an unseen wing 
amid the thicket, foretold the song we soon would surely hear ! 

We have heard of that enthusiast who was considered a fit subject tor 
asylum upon his assertion that he "had walked five miles in the snow to 
keep an appointment with a certain beech-tree." Madness of this sort 
was the enviable possession of Mr. Gunn. He knew the punctual birds, 
and heard the warble of the bluebird ere his neighbor had thought of 
spring. He knew the prophetic faces oi the flowers that usher in the 
seasons, uionths, or weeks ; and manv were the "appointments" which he 
kept with some slu' recluse of the woods or tallows — some rare pale 
orchid, radiant aster, or wild blue-gentian that met his ]o\al welcome at 
the first unfolding of its fringes. 

Indeed, how fittinglv shoukl we now choose to find a touching corre- 
spondence rather than a mere coincidence in that beautitul episode of the 
luimming-bird so tre(juently seen hovering aljout his li[.)s as he reclined 
upon the sunny embowered piazza in those last sad days ! 

In a recent memorial address, delivered by the Rev. James M. Ludlow 
at Princeton College, in lionor of its late |)resident, I )r. Maclean, 1 recall 
an allusion which seemed [jeculiarly applicaljle to Mr. Gimn. .Speaking 
of his honored prece|)tor he said, " His personal appearance was notable. 
Nature had endowed him with a rare physique. His muscles were iron, 
his nerves steel, a straight inheritance of the Maclean clan that swung the 
cla\inore on the Scottish border." 

How many old " ( ".unnery boys" will here recall that familiar .Scotch- 
plaid shirt and Highland cap of the master of the Gunner\', in which he 
seemed to take his greatest comtort, and which seemed almost a part of his 
individuality, as natural to him as the bark to the oak ; and in which one's 
fancy instinctix'cly clothes him in ihe heroic strife of his early manhood ! 

I am not aware that Mr. Ciunn e\er gave a thought to the status or 
nativity of his remote ancestry, but when, shortly after his death, an 
enthusiastic son of .Sutherlaml, chancing upon a biographical sketch of 
Mr. Gunn, zealously claimed him as a missing fruit of his famiK' tree, 
and forwardeil the ancestral crest of the proud "Clan Gunn." — a de.xter 
hand clenching a sword, and bearing the motto, . //// I'a.w . I lit Ih'llitDi, — 



INTRODUCTIOX. xiii 

the most incredulous and orthodox New Englander among the friends of 
the Washington school-master could not but admit the singular force of 
the coincidence and the perfect appositeness of the sentiment, for, did he 
not always disdain co\vardl\- compromise? with him was it not always 
either Peace or War ? 

In this connection, if we allow our fancy a little pla\-, with what new 
significance may we in\est a hundred familiar incidents? — the enviable 
skill with bow and rifle ; the picture framed by the old academy doorway- 
of the stalwart, martial figure decked in plaid and Highland cap, and with 
clarion at his lips, ringing the blast that summoned his loyal boyish clan ; 
of long seasons when the old l)r()wn schoobhouse, like "the braes of lU-n 
Lomond." echoed to the thrill of "war-pipe and pennon," when "loudl\- 
rung the pibroch proud," and bo\ish pulses cjuickened and maiden cheeks 
flushed attuned to the martial spirit ot the chief, who, in tones of richest 
resonance, led his band in the thrilling "boat-song of Clan Alpine," — 
how tenderly may we revive it now : 

■' (5urs is no sapfing, cliance-sown by the fountain. 
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade ; 
Wlien the whirhvind has stripped every leaf on the mountain, 
The more shall Clan-Alpinc exult in her shade. 
Moored in the rifted rock, 
Proof to the tempest's shock, 
Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow : 
Monteith and Breadalbane, then 
Echo his praise again, 
' Roderigh \'ich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe ! ' " 

To the memory of this dear foster-lather of our youth, we, his reverent 
pupils, would bring our flowers of grateful tribute in a wreath of man\' 
offerings, that for their unity and harmony rely alone upon the golden 
tie which binds them. It is a book, in a sense, without author or editor, a 
unique and instructive instance of a syndicate of authors, each the editor 
of the others' manuscripts and all in perfect accord, the illustrator alone 
e.xempt from vivisection. 

While the chapters are duly accredited to their authors in the table of 
contents, this re]jresents, after all, Ijut the half of justice, each of these 
acknowledged tributaries to the volume being indebted to many springs of 
information, whose identities are thus merged and lost. 

To these a few words of earnest recognition are due. While they have 
chosen to keep in the background, they have still, like the undertone on 
the canvas, ami to a degree little appreciated by themselves, lent value, 
color, and harmony to the completed work. 



xiv /-V TK O DUC ri O X. 

Among- them there is one wlio must ener hold an honored phice as 
deserving- of the gratitude of every friend of Mr. Gunn, and of the institution 
he founded. In her unremitting labors of research, in the collection, col- 
lation, antl apportionii-ient of a large amount of the literary n-iaterial ol the 
vcjhune, acquired only b\' personal interview and laborious correspondence, 
in addition, also, to invaluable editorial suggestion and supervision. Miss 
.\m\- C. Kenyon stands in a deeper and more intimate relation to the 
book than any other one of the contributors, all of whom would unite 
in grateful acknowledgment of her helpfulness and self-denial. To Miss 
Kenyon we are further indebted for the skillful and sxiupathetic compila- 
tion of " Mr. Gunn's Written Words," which is, undoubtedly, the most 
valuable contribution to the vokmie. To many of the Gunner\- boys, who 
saw their master only thnnigh the limited vision oi \outh, these written 
words will certainl)- prove a revelation oi his inner life, while, to the general 
reader, the friends of Mr. Ciunn could commend no grander view of his 
character. Herein he has revealed the portrait ot his true self as his near- 
est friend never could ha\-e ]:)ortrayed it, and it is the portrait ot a noble, 
s|)iritual nature, which, e\-en to us who were drawn niost closeK' to hini, 
rebukes the kiiidest estimate of our \-outh and wins our renewed reverence 
and love. 

Mr. Beecher, whose keen appreciation of the character and spirit 
of Mr. Gunn has already been alluded to, expressed the opinion that 
these e.\cer[Jts from his letters and writings, dwelling as the\- do witli 
eloquence and prophetic power upon so man\- of tlie themes which must 
ever most deeply stir the souls of thinking men, would aloiie " pro\-e 
the master of the ' Gininery ' a thinker who was far in ad\ance of his 
time." 

In the section upon Mr. dunii's " l'"arl\- .Struggles," acknowiedgn-ients 
are due to Mr. John (iunn, brother of Mr. ("lunn, Mr. Lewis Canheld, and 
Mr. Daniel Canfield, contemporaneous towiismeii and neighbors, whose 
niei-iiories of those teni))estuoLis tii-nes have fornied an in-iportant nucleus 
for this portion of the work. Interesting facts bearing upon the sclmol-life 
and iliscipliiie of the (nuincry should !)e credited to Miss Hllen H. Lxnian 
and Mr. Charles P. (Joodyear, and the valuable assistance of the Rev. H. 
W. Woodruff in his contribution of reminiscences to the chapter, " Mr. 
(junn as the Citizen," deserves especial recognition. 

Nor are these all to whon-i our pages are in tlebt. Accjuisitions to the 
te.xt have been received from fVii-nds, pupils, and accjuaintances, far and 
near, who, together with the host who have niadc the liook a possibility 
through their generous contributions of tlie mop.e\- recjuireLl for its publi- 



INTRODUCTIOX. ^^ 

cation, will please accept herewith, in behalf of the Association, a general 
acknowledgment of their kindness. 

An emphasized recognition is also due to Mr. Clarence Deming, whose 
signed contributions convey but an imperfect idea of his relation to the 
book, which owes much to him for special editing and sagacious revision. 

In the practical or business part of the enterprise, with its long list of 
exacting incidentals, the book has been most fortunate in the assistance of 
Mr. W'illiam B. Beach and Mr. William E. Wheelock ; nor should I omit 
to mention the services of Mr. H. W. B. Howard, who, in addition to his 
accredited chapter, has had general supervision of the mechanical detail 
of printing and manufacture, and has given valuable aid in editorial sug- 
gestion and oversight. 

With a very k\v exceptions which are dul>- credited to Messrs. Harper 
& Brothers, — whose courtesy and generosity are here feelingly acknowl- 
edged, — and one important example donated by Mr. Howard, the illus- 
trations which accompan\- the text have been designed especially for this 
volume. 

W. Hamilton Gibsox. 




/^'.4.. 



V * ' t*'^ 






The Master of "The Gunnery" 



Old Times in Judea 




HE finest scenery and the finest grazing lands 
of Connecticut are to be found in Litchfield 
County. Here the Green Mountains soften down 
to hills, showing but little of the mountainous save 
along the valleys of the larger rivers. The scen- 
ery bordering the Housatonic is indeed extremely 
rugged, but the more shallow furrows cut by the trib- 
utaries of that river are far less savage in aspect. The 
Shepaug, one of the largest of these tributaries, runs 
through a lovely valley some ten miles east of the Housatonic. It is often 
hemmed in by smooth hills, oftener by mountains, and at one place curves 
immediately beneath a remarkable precipice several hundred feet high, 
called Steep Rock, one of the natural wonders of the count)' and .State. 

On a level plateau, overlooking a beautiful stretch of the valley of the 
Shepaug, lies the little village of Judea, the center of the elder of the two 
ecclesiastical societies which were formed into the town of Washington 
during the heat of the struggle for independence. Four miles away, over 
the high hill which divides the valley of Shepaug from the valley of the 
Aspetuck. are the villages of Marbledale (the "Lower Cit\" of half a 
century ago) and New Preston (the " Upper City"). Half a mile above 
New Preston lies the most beautiful and one of the largest of Connecticut's 
lakes, named after an old Indian sachem who was noted in the early 
historv of this region. Lake Waramaug is bordered by high hills, more 



2 THE MASTER OF -'■THE GUNNERYr 

preci])itous on the south and east, between which it winds for three or four 
miles hke a great river. At its eastern extremity Pinnacle Moimtain 
rises sharply to the height of nearl\- a thousand feet, crowned with a 
rounded summit of granite rock, affording a splendid view of the lake, and 
of a wide expanse of country, including many villages, out of which rise 
the many steeples of a New England landscape. 

Washington Green, on which stands the Judea Church, is on the level 
top of a hill, and a little way down the eastern slope is the Gunnery School. 
"Judean Society" (so spelled in the old records) was set off from the 
ancient town of Woodbury in 1741. The old Connecticut system of local 
administration gave to the town control of secular matters, and to the 
ecclesiastical society authorit\- over religion and education. Town 
democracy holds its own in Connecticut to this day, maintaining town 
representation and refusing popular representation in the lower branch 
of the General Assembly. "Toleration" and the Constitution of 1818, 
in disestablishing the Puritan Church, deprived the ecclesiastical society 
of its chief function ; more recently it lost its control of education, and 
it has finally disappeared from the Connecticut statute-book altogether. 
Vet, in the early histor\- of the State, the "Society" was often of more 
importance than the town. The queen-bee ot each little Puritan com- 
munity was its church. Settlers strained their resources to build a " meet- 
ing-house " and to support a settled pastor. Each church was an inde- 
pendent sovereignty, and the inhabitants of each territorial subdivision 
of the Connecticut town, called an ecclesiastical society and attached to 
each church, were apt to acquire characteristics peculiar to that society. 

The town of Washington is a marked instance of the union of ecclesi- 
astical societies having each its distinctive and radically different charac- 
teristics, judea, an offshoot from old \\'oodbur\', was solidly Puritan; 
New Preston, made up from the odds and ends of three old towns, had a 
strong leaven of religioLis and political dissent from the outset, and many 
other peculiarities attributable to ideas more or less divergent trom those 
of an undiluted Puritanism. 

Twenty-six members of Judea Societ\- reported to the General Assem- 
bl\-, in the s|)ring of 1742, that they had " I'nanymousK' and Lovingly 
agrei'd upon a Place for to Set a Meeting- House." It was the site on 
which the church now stands. In 1748, the Rev. Daniel Brinsmade, then 
recently graduated from Yale, great-grandfather of the mistress of the Gun- 
nery .School, became settled pastor of the |udea ChLMxh. The pastoral 
relation continued till Mr. Prinsmade's death in 170,1. although, during the 
last vcars of his life, he had an assistant. ( )f all the ministers settled 



OLD TIMES IN JUDEA. 3 

over the jmlca Church, Mr. Brinsmade was the only one whose family 
took root in the place. They have continued ever since to hold an 
important and generally a leading position in its church and society. 
Judge Daniel N. Brinsmade, eldest son of Priest Brinsmade (as he was 
popularly called), graduated from Yale in 1772, became a lawyer, and lived 
and died in Washington. He represented the town in the convention which 
adopted the Federal Constitution, was long a judge of the county court, 
and for twenty-one years, almost without a break, was the leading repre- 
sentative of the town at l:)Oth the May and the October session of the 






WASHINGTON 
■;, ,-S " I-KOM C\NFIEIDS HILI 



.^■^ln'-i ' ;' General AssembK'. During the last 
■^■S^^^ '.'i^. few years of the Charter era of our State 
"^'' '■' government, though still holding his place 

as an assistant, he passed over the town representation to his only son, 
Daniel B. Brinsmade. With the adoption of the Constitution, the Tolera- 
tion party began to dispute the hitherto unbroken sui)remacy of Federalism 
in Washington, and in 182 1 achieved its first victory over the waning 
Federalism, then fast declining even in its New England strongholds. 

The late Seth P. Beers, of Litchfield, is authority for an anecdote that 
shows vividly the strength of the legislative habit on the old Federalists, 
who, by long tenure of office, had almost come to regard themselves as 
representatives for life. Though Judge Brinsmade had retired from active 
public life some years before the adoption of the Constitution of 1818, he 
went to Hartford in 18 19 to see with his own eyes what the new rci^imc 



4 



THE MASTER OF -^ THE GlWNEJiY. 



was like. He naturally turned first to his old haunt, the House of Repre- 
sentatives. Not caring to mix with the Toleration crowd with which 
the hall was then filled, he chose to view it from afar, and took a seat in 
the gallery, placed, in our old State House, immediately behind the mem- 
bers' seats. Soon a member rose and made a motion. It had grown to 
be a habit with the judge, during his service in forty-three sessions of the 
House, to second every motion, whether favoring it or not, in order to 
bring it properly before that body. No sooner, then, had the Toleration- 
ist stated his proposition, than "I second the motion" rang out from the 
gallery. The astonished members turned around; many recognized the 
veteran legislator and remembered his old habit. A burst of laughter 
followed which left the mortified old Federalist more than ever disgusted 
with a Toleration legislature. 

Ft)r eighty years the Congregational Church, its pastors and its leading 
men, had governed the Judea Society. For forty years they had governed 
the town of Washington, — [udge Brinsmade having exercised, through 
most of that time, a sort of jjatriarchal control in secular matters, while 
the pastors and deacons dominated the religious and educational interests 
of the community. The first breach in this solid formation of Church and 
State was indirectly occasioned by the French Revolution. The Puritan 
ministry hated French democracy just as sincerely as they hated French 
infidelity. Thomas Jefferson was a believer in the Revolution of '89. He 
was attacked Irom nearly every Congregational pulpit in the State as an 
enemy ot religion and of social order. The result in Washington, as else- 
where, was a religious schism. Earnest Democrats began to look about 
them for some church where they could worship God without having their 
political principles denounced as infamous, their political leaders as infi- 
dels. So bitter was the feeling that, in two recorded cases in the town of 
Washington, Democrats were fined for interrupting preachers of the 
gospel of Federalism. One of them had risen in meeting and shaken his 
fist in the minister's face, and the other had brandished a formidable look- 
ing jack-knife at the i)arson. In Washington, religious dissent from the 
established church took chiefl)' the form of Episcopacy; John Davies, 
one of the early Connecticut apostles of Episcopacy, settled in the part of 
Litchfield afterward incorporated with Washington, and his descendants 
in Davies Hollow long maintained there the church he established. 

In the heterogeneous society of New Preston religious and political 
dissent grew more rajtidh- still. In the sharp contest of 1806, when 
Selleck Osborn, the Democratic editor, lay imprisoned lor liliel in Litch- 
field jail, the Washington Republicans (for so the Democrats of the Jefter- 







Y 






'J- C 



\^ 



.\ 






•^ It 



'^'^^v 



s'-r 



#-/ 



'^. 






/ J» 1 \kl U \R\\I \L 










•^*5 



-•^<j£. 



.* j«V 



V^ \^f 



'■'' sonicin period calltd 
themseKcs) polltd 4^ 
of the IS7 \oUs cast in the town * 

Still the t st.ihlishcd church held 
its o\\ n in politics for halt a s^k nt u 
tion lon^ci and althoiit^h Toleration 
could carry the town in the election of 
182 1, it could never build up an equally ^^Y 
powerful church. ^Vi -?^^' *«^^ "^'t. 

A brief glance may be proper here ""'Vt ■ '^"^- • ■ 
at the manners, customs, and modes of '^.[ 
life which probably survived longer in ' 

the "Mountain County" of Connecticut than in any other part of the 
State. It is no easy matter, however, to sketch accurately the kind of 
life led by our ancestors of the later eighteenth and early nineteenth 
centuries. Cotton goods were almost unknown. They raised, dressed, 
and spun the flax from which the linen in common use was woven. 



6 THE MASTER OF -THE GUNNERVr 

Their licavicr cloths were manufactured in hand-looms from the wool 
of their own sheep. There were no meat markets. Xow and then 
quarters of fresh beef and veal were exchanged between farmers, Init 
their staple meat was salt pork, varied with corned beef. Their houses 
were small, ill-lig-hted, g-enerally unpainted; their out-buildings few, poor, 
and miseraliK' insufficient for the ]jrotection of their stock. Their tools 
were of primitive make. The ston)- soil was turned with wooden plows: 
meadows were mown with the hand-sc\the ; even the sickle had not 
been entirely superseded by the grain-cradle. The farmer lived from 
the produce of his farm ; he saw little ready money, and the light taxes 
of those days were probably a heavier burden than the far larger sums 
imposed by the modern assessor. Coft'ee, molasses, and brown sugar 
were lu.xuries ; and tea was drunk sparingly. The pu])lic highways were 
abominable. Used originally more as bridle-paths than for wagons, they 
were laid in nearly straight lines, in utter disregard of the continual hills 
of a very uneven country. Earl\' in the present century- the first great 
step in the improvement of trans[)ortation was taken in the incorporation 
of numerous turnpike companies; Init the vehicles in constant use were 
still exceedingly clumsy, generally without springs, jolting heavily over 
the badly laid, ill-repaired roads of the period. People still traveled much 
on horseback, with their wives and sometimes one or two children behind 
them on pillions. On the whole, lile here was perhaps even more {primi- 
tive than that which now excites the wonder of the traveler in the back 
country ot the .South. 

During the busy season wealthy f.irmers toiled often fourteen hours 
daily with their sons and hired men, and at all times did an amount of 
hard work of which the modern farmer would be incapable. The labor of 
tlie larmer's wile and daughters was literall_\- incessant. Besides the work 
of the house and dairy, s[jinning, sewing, and sometimes weaving, came in 
to fill up nearly ever\- waking moment. Those, too, were the days when 
the family of the native New Englander was larger than that of the 
Euro])ean immigrant on whom New England now depends to keep her 
population h-om actual decrease. Incessant work and incessant child-bearing, 
howe\cr, sap|)cd the \italit\- not onl\- of the New England matron herself 
but entailed a wi/akened ])h) sicjue upon her numerous progeny. Neglect 
of sanitary precautions brought lre<iuentand destructive epidemics. Man- 
ners were coarse, morals low, aiul a dialect was spoken which has been 
reproduced rather than caricatiu'eel in the " liiglow Papers." -Simda)' 
recreations were sternly rcijressed, but churches were built b\- lotteries 
specially authorized !))• the legislature. 



OLD TIMES IN JUDEA. - 

The prevalent notion, ho\ve\er, that the New Enj^^land Puritan was a 
harsh legislator is a mistake. Unchastity, indeed, was punished as a 
crime. Sabbath observance and attendance at church were strictly 
enjoined ; * but the penal code, as a whole, was extremely mild for the 
times. The savage penalties which then disgraced the criminal law of 
Old England were unknown in New England ; yet here, as everywhere 
else, punishment meant some form of bodil)' torture, or the infliction of 










JLDKA MKETIXG-IIOI'SE. 



some public, often permanent, mark of disgrace. P\)r the worst offenses 
less than capital, prisoners were branded on the forehead, pilloried, and 
barbarously whipped. For some less aggravated crimes the "scarlet let- 
ter " stigma was affi.xed, or the criminal was sentenced to wear a halter 
at all times around his neck outside of his clothes. Public whipping for 
theft continued through the first quarter of the present century. Imprison- 
ment for debt was the constant resource of the creditor. 

Looking back upon the lives led by our ancestors, we no doubt rate 
too highly the advantages of the modern Yankee farmer, whose toil is 
lightened not only by the general subdixision of labor, init Ijy the mow- 
ing-machine, the horse-rake, and improved agricultural tools of every 
description ; who has substituted the horse for the ox as his chief beast of 
burden ; and whose wife is freed from her old bondage to the loom and 

* Neither of the churches in Judea was furnished with sto\es, or warmed in any way in winter, _ 
until 1825 or 1830. 



8 THE ArASTER OF -'THE GLWXERYr 

the spinnini^-whcL'I, and often from the work of the dairy. Our grandfathers 
wasted no hibor on superfluities. They had rough, stout garments for 
every-dav wear ; a suit of liroadcloth lasted them a Hfe-time ; and they 
were independent of the fashions of the outer world. Just as the sewing- 
machine has increased the amount of sewing the modern woman feels 
called upon to do, so with improved methods of husbandry have come 
new fashions of luxury ami expense to the farmer of to-day, leaving 
him less real independence, perhaps, than was enjoyed by his ruder 
ancestors. 

The architecture ot the Puritan meeting-house was often a poor copy in 
wood of the Greek temple. The music sung in it as late as the earlier years 
of the present century was a grotesque imitation of the fugue style prevalent 
in the European music ot the century before. The published collections 
of that period show probably the most astounding music ever put in print 
for the use of Christian churches. They are evidently the work of com- 
posers not only ignorant of the commonest rules governing the progres- 
sion of parts in harmony, and of the use and resolution of discords, but 
ignorant even of the minor scale. If they had been able to play the 
organ, or any other keyed instrument, they could not have failed to cor- 
rect the grosser crudities of their composition. The only musical instru- 
ment admitted into the meeting-house was the bass-viol. Every old resi- 
dent of Washington remembers Uncle Anthony Smith and his "big fiddle," 
as well as a systematic persecutor of his who was always equipped with 
a little box of lard wherewith to grease the ecclesiastical fiddle-bow and 
make trouble in the church exercises. As most of those ancient tunes 
now stand, the dim resemblance they bear to the most artificial and 
difficult of musical forms — four-part \ocal harmony in fugue — only serves 
to heighten their absurdit)-. One of the more ambitious of these compo- 
sitions — Morgan's "Judgment Anthem," a noted musical work with our 
great-grandfathers — illustrates the savagery of Puritan music in connection 
with the savagery of Puritan theology most effectively, and we are told 
that it grated harshly even on the uninstructed Puritan ear. Yet among 
the monstrosities of the Puritan tune-books really fine compositions now 
and then occur. " Majesty " breathes the spirit ot religious exaltation in 
which Cromwell's Ironsides charged at Marston Moor. No hymn of 
bereavement exceeds in pathos the unearthly wail of "China." Yet, as 
tradition says, and as its words indicate, " China " was written as a hymn 
of resignation. I have been told that .Swan, its author, lost a child, and 
in the fresliness ot his grict composed a tune whose name I cannot now re- 
call. Later, when in a measure reconciled to his bereavement, he wrote 



OLD TIMES IN JUDEA. g 

" China." It is not easy to conceive of tlie deptli of llic woe which finds 
only mitigated expression in "China." 

A few years before Frederick W. Gunn graduated from Yale and 
returned to play a leading part in the community where he was born and 
reared, two great reformatory movements had sprung into importance 
there, in both of which he came to take a fervent interest, and with one 
his own subsequent careerbecame so bound up that its success laid deeply the 
foundation of the Gunnery School. The first of these moral upheavals was 
the old temperance movement. Until about half a centur\- ago, the New 



^•-r : 







^^' 



ON THE SHEP.A.UC;. 



Englander recognized no duty with reference to alcoholic beverages but 
that of moderation in their use. Cooper's " Pioneers" and Mrs. Stowe's 
" Oldtown Folks" picture some of the convivial habits of our ancestors. 
The "good servant but bad master" theory pre\ailed regarding alcohol. 
That moderate indulgence was attended with such risks as to make total 
abstinence a duty one owed to society, if not to his own safety, was a rule 
of conduct on which no Puritan moralist had yet insisted. The elders of 
this Puritan society thought it no sin to pass frequent evenings at the 
tavern, to drink rather freely, to play practical jokes, sing songs, and other- 
wise to comport themselves in a manner that would greatly scandalize staid 
people at the present day. Church members put fifty barrels of cider into 
their cellars every winter, and scarcely drank water for eight months in the 
year. The more provident laid in casks of cider-brandy for the dry season. 

2 



lO TffE MASTER OF ^'THR GUNNERY." 

The temperance movement showed Puritanism at its best. The solid 
middle class of New England rebelled against King Alcohol as their 
ancestors had rebelled against King George. The Puritan Church began 
to treat him as an enemy, and to look askance at the deacon who habitually 
drank spirituous liquors. The wave of temperance excitement subsided, 
but it left New England a changed country. The Puritan had recognized 
his dut)- of self-denial. He renounced the greatest luxury of a life which 
had few luxuries. He gave up the convivial customs which had softened 
the severity of his manners, because he came clearly to see that indulgence 
of that kind could only be bought by paying too dear a price. 

In becoming an earnest advocate of total abstinence, the founder of 
the Gunnery School merely went with the tide, but some of the most valu- 
able work of his life was devoted to filling an important place left vacant 
by the success of that movement. The center of all that was serious in 
Puritan life was the church ; Phe focus of such fun and jollity as Puritanism 
allowed was the tavern. The man who could tell the best story, sing the 
I^est song, or play the " cutest " practical joke was an important personage. 
Often he led the church choir on the Sai^bath, and was also the life of the 
evening gathering at the village tavern. It must be remembered that in 
those days the song was sung without any sort of accompaniment. The 
melody was simple, and the singer's power lay almost as much in recita- 
tion as in beauty of voice or musical art. " Method," in the modern 
technical sense, there was none. Still the real singer (the names of many 
of whom were familiar in my early days) could move a room full of Puri- 
tans to tears, — already a lilth; mellowed, perhaps, by the " flip," the "sling," 
and the "sangaree" that abounded at such times. Nearly all the fun and 
good-fellowship known to Puritanism was bound up in its drinking cus- 
toms. They were the life of its "Training-Days," its "Raisings," its 
"Glorious Pourths." Total abstinence destroyed all the comedy of the 
old Puritan lite. 

I have often heard my father, a militia officer for some dozen years 
following 1820, describe the ways of the militiamen of his time in old 
Judea. Then every man from eighteen to forty-five was enrolled, and 
nearly everybody "trained." There was a full company of infantry, and 
[)arts, at least, of artillery and cavalry companies, enrolled in the town. 
The old cannon- house stood, in those days, a little way up the now 
discontinued Mallory road north-east of the Green. On every training- 
day scjuads of soldiers would start out by daybreak to "wake" their offi- 
cers. After firing a few rounds, they were invited in and treated. In fact, 
the soldier expected to keep well stimulated all thiy at his oflicer's e.xpense. 



OLD TIMES IN JUDEA. n 

Line officers were treated by held officers. Occasionally officers' trainings 
closed with pretty uproarious evenings. I well remember one training- 
day which 1 attended as a youngster. The Green was a bedlam; muskets 
banging, the old iron twelve-pounder roaring, and big brass cavalry-pis- 
tols, loaded to the muzzle, firing on all sides, when they did not flash in 




•%> 



WAKAMAUG, FROM THK .NOKTH. 



the pan. I have often heard it said that the temperance movement, by 
discouraging the practice of treating, took away all popular interest in the 
old militia system. 

There was another thing, aside from the free use of into.xicating drinks, 
that tended to give Puritan fun a riotous character. There was a sharply 
drawn line in those days between the "professors" and the unconverted. 
The Catechism was indeed taught, and the Bible read as a part of the tasks 
of the common school ; but the kindly, careful, religious training of the 
modern Sunday-school was unknown. Personal religion was not then, 
as is now more usual, a matter of growth, but of sudden conversion. The 
Puritan youth was an unbroken colt to whom riot and license were natural 
till his experience of that change of heart which qualified him for admis- 
sion to the church. 



12 THE MASTER OE'-THE GL'N.VERY:' 

I well recollect an incident that occurred fort)' and more years ago, 
which shows to what extremes the young Puritans of even that later day 
often carried their rebellious fun. They had made it a practice to ring 
the church bell at all the private evening weddings customary at that 
time. Frank Brinsmade, elder brother of Mrs. Gunn, had been a ring- 
leader in that species of disturbance; but by and by his time came. 
He was to marry a daughter of Samuel Leavitt, a church magnate, 
stiff against all breaches of order. To make sure that his daughter's 
wedding should not be interrupted by the usual bell-ringing, Mr. Leavitt 
had the sexton remove the bell-tongue, lock the belfry door, and nail 
down the church windows. Then he stationed two men outside to pre- 
vent even an attempt to break into the sacred edifice. 

.\ndrew Hinc then kept a store at the old Powell Tavern stand (now 
owned by T. H. Woodruff). The young men, finding the church so 
well guarded, had retired to Hines's store to consult. The old man sug- 
gested the weak i)oint in the church line of defense in this characteristic 
way: "Boys," said he, "there is a Inishel-basket full ot eggs under that 
counter. Now, remember what I say. Don't you touch one of them!" 
They acted on the hint, and soon egged the church-guard off the Green. 
Then they broke into the church, smashed through the belfry door, and 
tied a blacksmith's sledge into the bell for a tongue. While some were 
ringing this comical marriage-peal, others stole the old twelve-pounder 
out of the cannon- house and set it banging on the Green, while still 
others lighted up the whole performance with a burning barrel of tar. No 
attempt was made to stop the riot, and " Frank's " wedding was certainly 
the noisiest aft'air of the kind that ever occurred in old Judea. 

The founder ol the Gunner)-, with an e)e keener than his times, saw 
how the temperance movement and the swiftly modif)ing manners of 
society seemed likely to impair what little joviality there had been in the 
old and austere Puritan system. Believing that good amusements are 
a necessity to the healthful existence of any society, he devoted much 
money and more time to the supplying of this great deficiency. The dramas, 
the liall games, the Friday receptions, peculiar to the Gunnery .School 
under his management, all tended to make Washington a pleasanter place 
to live in than the average New England town. Here Mr. Gunn's suc- 
cess was the more remarkable because his line of eftbrt was unusual. It 
is conurion and easy enough to flee to the cit)- and thence praise the 
countr)- from afar. To render countr)- life attractive in comparison 
with city life is the great problem to the solution of which he contributed 
not a little. 



OLD TIMES IN JCDEA. 13 

Almost contemporaneously with the temperance movement the Puritan 
conscience of old Judea began to be much disturbed about the counte- 
nance given by American politics and the American church to slavery. 
The founders of the Republic had always distrusted that system. The cold, 
keen intellect of Jefferson saw how utterly inconsistent it was with the 
democracy he practiced as well as preached. He succeeded in overthrow- 
ing much that was undemocratic in the institutions of his native State, but 
most unfortunately' slavery proved too strong for him, and he died leaving 
Virginia still loaded down with the very worst of her many evil inheri- 
tances. The last hope of self-reform died out in the South when Whit- 
ney's cotton-gin made slavery profitable. A new school of statesmanship 




•=^ '^v •,i-\^Bf n, -^ 



arose there ; and Jefferson's noble sympathy with democracy everywhere 
was beginning to give place to the narrow, selfish, intensely aristocratic 
and intensely sectional political creed of John C. Calhoun. 

In the meantime the politics of the nation had lost the sharply defined 
issues presented by the differences of master-minds like those of Jefferson 
and Hamilton. Whigs and Democrats indeed strove against each other 
with great vigor, but their politics was the politics of a barren middle 
period, when the conflicts of principle had degenerated into the conflicts 
of men. The politicians whose fathers had been ready to stone Hamilton 
or Jefferson, as they sided against one or the other, had experienced 
an "era of good feeling," — the sort of period in which both sides unite, 
with more or less sincerity, in erecting monuments over the martyrs of the 
generation just past. Among the Pharisees and Sadducees of the Jack- 



H 



THE MASTER OF ''THE GUNNERY." 



son-Clay epoch, there was indeed enough and more than enouoh shouting 
of the old war cries, but the old spirit no longer animated either party. 
Sham radicals fought sham conservatives, not for principles, as of old, 
but for the loaves and fishes. 

It is difficult to conceive, at this da\-, of the horror and disgust with 
which, half a centurv since, both Whigs and Democrats viewed the rise 
of the new Liberty party. Here, indeed, was a real radicalism come to 
worry a sham radicalism as well as a sham conservatism. Had not the 
two regular political parties just finished the burying of the old quarrels, 
and the erection of monuments over the martyrs and heroes of those 
political fights? Had not John .\dams, the sole Federalist President, and 
Thomas Jefferson, the first of the long line of Democratic Chief Magis- 
trates, died in the odor of republican sanctity on the semi-centennial of our 
independence, canonized by direct dispensation of Providence, as it were ? 
And now up springs another issue infinitely more serious than Federalist 
or Democrat ever joined, promising unmeasured sectional differences and 
hatred, civil war, and eventual dissolution of the Union. 

Judea Society was just the right Puritan soil for a Liberty party to 
take root and grow in. As nearly as can be ascertained, in 1837, and not 
long after Lovcjoy's martyrdom, an Abolition convention met at Hart- 
ford. John Gunn (eldest brother of Frederick W. Gunn), William Leav- 
itt, Daniel G. Piatt (father of United States Senator Orville H. Piatt), 
and Lewis A. Canfield attended, each taking his wife. Earnest, strug- 
gling movements, morally strong but numerically weak, seek woman's 
help; but regular parties, interested chiefly in carrying elections and 
dividing the spoils, want no such keen observers and sharp critics pres- 
ent at their gatherings. They staid for three days at a temperance 
tavern, where they had prayers night and morning, and they attended 
antislavery meetings every day. Many of the great leaders of the new 
movement were there (James G. Birney certainly one), who not only 
thundered against slavery, but tried to organize Abolitionism into a 
political party. 

In the meantime, matters grew ver)- hot tor the partisans of the new 
faith at home. The Rev. Gordon Hayes, a strong, able conservative, was 
then pastor of the Judea Church. With entire sincerity he set to work to 
check the s])read of the new heresy. Sunday after Sunda)' he inveighed 
against Abolition, not only on political and patriotic but on religious 
grounds. He tried to show his congregation how entirely slavery was 
sanctioned by God in the Old Testament, and how its continuance was 
justified in the New. The Abolitionists were not idle. They held meet- 



OLD TIMES IN JUDEA. jc 

ings at which their speakers denounced slavery as a sin, and communion 
with slave-holders as collusion with sin. The feeling against them was 
intense ; old friends passed them on the street without recognition. 

In August, 1839, there came a new disturbing element to add to the 
bitterness of the antislavery conflict. Daniel G. Piatt and Lewis A. Can- 
field, with their wives, drove over to Gaylord's Bridge and brought back 
Miss Abby Kelly, then a prominent Abolition speaker. She staid in 
Washington a fortnight or more, addressing frequent Alrolition gatherings. 




^ Br, - -^ '"^^^^^^kl 






*-, 1^ 



A GLIMPSE ON THE MALLORY ROAD. 



It is difficult for us, who have seen women lecturing on temperance, lead- 
ing religious services, even called to speak in aid of a dominant political 
party at the crisis of an election, to conceive of the cry of abhorrence and 
disgust with which our fathers greeted the advent of woman on the field of 
politics. It was adding Woman's Rights fuel to the Abolition flame. On 
the records of the Judea Church appears the following entry : 

"Aug. 8tli, 1839. 

"At a meeting of the Church convened in consequence of a notice of a meeting 
of the Antislavery Society at which it was said a female would lecture : 

" /vcWTrfl', That we are opposed to the introduction of female public lecturers into 
this society by members of this Church, and to females giving such lectures in it." 

Mr. Hayes was so beside himself with indignation that he preached a 
sermon from this astounding text: 



1 6 rilE MASTER OF "Til K GUNNRIiY." 

" Notwithslaiuliii^ 1 li.ivc a few lliiiiLjs aL;aiiist llicc, Ijccausc thou suffcrcsl that 
woman Jczchrl, wliich callctli licrsrlfa proplictoss, to trach and to stnhicc ni}' sct- 
\-ants to commit loinicilion, and to cat tliinL;s sacrificed unto idols. 

" And I L',a\c lu'i- space to repent of hei' loiiiication ; and she repented not. 

" Hehold, I will cast her into a i.n-d, and them that commit aihilter)- with her 
into L;ieat tril)nlali<in, except the\- repent ol theii' ilectls." — Rev. ii. 20-22. 

I'hc sennoii was almost as coarst' as its tc.xl. It ix'Il'itc'c! to UiiiaU; 
lecturers traveling" alone 1)\- niolit and I)\- ilay, and plainly intimated tin- 
preacher's belief as to Miss ,\hin' K^lU's character. No sooner was the 
jtencdiclion prcMKumci'd than John (iuun cried oiil Irom the o.dlcry 
dcmnmcino as falsi' thi' charoes Mr. ilaxcshad insinuated. Il an\thin_o- 
could mV\ to die atrocit\ of such an oulraoc it was the fact that Miss .\l)hy 
l\.ell\- was herself present. .\s the preachi'r was lea\ iiio' the church she 
walked diri-clh' u|) to him and said. " ("lordon I la\■c!^^ \(>u ha\ e- saiil thin_os 
most injurious to m\- tdiaracter. i hope ( lod will foi-oi\c \(ui." 

riainl\ the |udea Cdiui'ch had orow u too hot for its .Xholilionists. Shortly 
alter, lhe\ w Idulrew and lormed a church of their own. It was a sort ot 
count)- oroani/ation, and. tor a season or two. met in \arious towiis 
throuohout the coinit\. t )llen no Iniildino was open to them, not e\-en a 
private house. \'\\v\ met in harns. in oroxx-s, and where\ei- the\ could 
tind a (ilace. ['he\ were man\ limes threatened with violence, antl were 
alwa\ s llouted as lanatics and disliu'hi'rs ot the pi'aci'. 

It was just al this point, when politics, the churi'h, and the comnuniit\' 
were all atlame with halicd ot .\liolilionism, that I'rederick W. dinin 
beoan his cari'cr as a te.icher in W'ashinolon. Others will ti'll liow 
pltickil\- hi- took his stand with the despisetl taction ; how he was accused 
ot distm-hino- tlu> peace ot societ\ and ol the church: how the prophet of 
Abolitionism was overborne and sent on his hcoira: how the maddened 
Pm-itanisni he let't behind followed his triends w ith excommtuiication, and 
attacked t'stunable ladies with public censure tor jiarticipation in innocent 
anuisenienls ; lunv, alter persecution had thoroiiL^hh' deteated its own entls, 
he was allowed to ri'ttn-n ; and how, tinalK, the chtn-ch of |udea became 
a church v>\ " original .\liolitiiinisis " ; till, at last, scarceK a hint of the 
e.xlincl \-olcano remained. e\ce|)t here and there the blackene^l trinik c^i 
some ilislellow shipped old .\bolitionist, ihi' half-burnt mart\r of a torotuten 
epoch. 

Xo one unaciju. tinted with the "sti>rm and sti^ess" period of Mr. (iimn's 
lite, when he was tiohtino an a|iparenllv ln)peless battle against all that 
was most powerlul in the church, siKMet\-, and politics, can understand the 



OLD T/.]fES FN JUDEA. 



17 



profound influence of that conflict in the formation of his cliaracter. 
It was then that he learned to trust no political party with the control 
of his political principles, and no church with the control of his con- 
science. It was then that he learned to read the books, cherished 
by eighteen generations of Christians as sacred, with the eye of reason 
rather than with the eye of faith. The radicalism he learned so earl\-, and 
to which he clung in adversit\, hi- never forgot, as so many radicals do, 
with advancing years and increasing prospcrit)-. He ended life, as he 
began it, the knight-errant of truth, and the despiser and assailant of lies 
and shams of every sort. Poi)ularity he enjoyed, as it were, under pro- 
test. He liked better a tilt in some thoroughly righteous, thoroughly 
unpopular cause, into which he rushed with the ardor of the born fighter, 
rejoicing in th.e number of his enemies — the kind f)f chainj)ion who, in 
actual life, is oftener heroic than victorious. 




II 



EaRI.V LlFK AND StRUGCILKS 



T is not easy to sketch the life of a friend whose 
menior_\- we cherish as a rich leg-ac\-. For as we 
know Iiim through the medium of our love, as we 
perceived his admirable qualities through the lens 
of a silent s)mpathy, it is very natural that we 
should shrink from disclosing to others the esti- 
mate of his character we have thus acquired. We 
not like to analyze his character; we prefer rather 
to regard it as a unit. It seems unnatural to weigh and 
compare its differing constituents, to question and decide 
v\hich particular trait most endeared our friend to us, or 
made him most helpful to others; above all, the conscious- 
ness that we can never so describe him that he will appear 
to others as he did to us, and the certainty that our por- 
trait will be sadly imperfect, make us feel at the outset 
that we may regret having attempted the work. And so I 
hesitate, almost fear, to attempt the story of Mr. Gunn's 
early life and struggles. He was more to me than a 
teacher ; my love for him was the love one has for father, brother, and friend. 
To those who knew him as I knew him, all I can write will seem unappre- 
ciative. To those who knew him but casuallw it may, in some measure, 
set forth and account for his rare development of manhood and manly 
goodness. 

Frederick W. Gunn was born in Washington, Conn., on the 4th of 
October, 1S16. He was youngest of the eight chiklren of John N. Gunn 
and Polly Ford, who were married October 25, 1797. His brothers were 
John and Lewis. John, the eldest of the family, outlived him, dying 
August 13, 1S83. Lewis died November 28, 1875. His sisters were 




20 THK MASTER OF -THE GUXXERY." 

Louisa, who married Dr. Samuel P. Andrews; Susan, who married Ben- 
nett Fenn; Abby, who married Hezetciah Loy^an ; Sarah, who married 
Thomas Pike; and Amaryllis, who married Lewis Cantield. Louisa and 
Sarah lived after marriage in Cioldsboro, N. C. The others remained in 
Washington. 

His lineage was good. He was of that sturd_\- )'et gentle Connecticut 
stock from which so many noble and forceful mi^n ha\e sprung; conspicu- 
ous on the father's side for integrity, generosity, and true nobility; on the 
mother's for religious faith, quiet goodness, and Ijenevolence. His jjarents 
lived, and Frederick was born, about a mile north-east ot the village 
"Green" of Judea Society, in a house which stood upon the site now occu- 
pied by P2dson Seeley. The old house, removed some years ago to make 
room for the present structure, remained until recently a few rods to the 
north-west of Mr. Seeley's dwelling. It was the ordinary stor)'-and-a-hall 
farm-house of the last century, standing with its side to the road, and 
painted, after the prevailing fashion of the times, a dark red with white 
trimmings, its front \ard inclosed b)- a wdiite board fence and ornamented 
with lilac bushes, roses, and a tew shrubs. Through this yard ran the 
rarely traveled path to the front door, which was seldom opened, except for 
extra company to be ushered into the "keeping-room." The customary 
entrance to the house was from the south, into what in those days was 
at once the kitchen and living-room of the family. Add the ample fire- 
place, the "hearth-stone," and the "chimney-corner," — now, alas! things 
by-gone, — and the picture is complete. 

His father was a farmer, but so much a i>ublic man that for man)- 
years he held antl discharged the duties of the office of deput)' sheriff, — an 
office then held in much honor, which he so accejjtablv filled that he became 
wide])- known, and still lives in local tradition, as " .Slieriff Gunn." Imprison- 
ment tor debt was then a part of the collection s\stem of Connecticut, and 
the sheriff was compelled, in executing the duties of his ofifice, to do acts as 
repugnant then to generous natures as now to the whole commuuitw Mr. 
Gunn delighted to speak of the official kindness of his father, and of the 
instances in which he had endeared himself to those whom he was called 
upon to arrest and imprison under the harsh and cruel laws of that period. 
In one of his letters, written in 1845, '''^ pays this tribute to his parents: 

" My father was not a professor of religion, but I think he was none 
the less a Christian; and every year I get man\- a shake of the hantl from 
those whom I never saw I:)efore, whom he had l)efrientletl while acting 
as sheritt. He was a man of uncommon moral as well as physical courage, 
whose integrity was beyond the suspicion of his enemies, and whose 



EAR FA' LIFE AND STRUGGLES. 21 

benevolence never slumbered. My mother was a member of the church, 
universally regarded as a pattern of piety, who watched over me with too 
constant, too tender care, for I had no chance to learn the lesson of self- 
reliance." 

Those who remember his mother describe her as one of the noblest 
of women, combining- unusual refinement with an intensely religious 
nature, devoted to the church and its work, full of neighborly kindness, 
always ready to nurse the sick or aid the suftering, but one whose chief 
joy was in the care of her familw 






'^Itf 




^^k 




jg^-Si-v. 



MR. Gl'N.N S BIRTH-HLACE. 
RESTORATION FROM DESCRIPTION.) 



We all recognize, but can never tulh- untlerstand, the effect which the 
rural surroundings of early years have on subsequent lite. There is a 
subtle, yet powerful influence exerted in the formation of character by the 
scenes of natural beauty, amid which one spends his boyhood ; the woods, 
hills, fields, sky, air and water, the birds and flowers, all seem to become 
part of the boyish life, and to develop and strengthen all manly traits and 
qualities. Mr. Gunn's home was "beautiful for situation," — one ot those 
spots so frequently found in Washington, where it seems as it nature had 
exerted herself to make a landscape to please the eye, to tranquilize the 
mind, and instruct the heart. Those familiar with the place will find little 
difhcultv in attributing to the outlook from the ]iomcst(>ad, and to the 



2 2 THE .VASTER OE "THE GUXNEEY:' 

hours passed in wanderino- over its acres, the g-erm oi that love of nature 
which so clearly marked Mr. CUmn's lite. 

-Amid those rural scenes, with the example and teaching of such 
parents, his infancy and early boyhood were passed, until, in his tenth 
year, he was called to bear that most severe of all afflictions, the loss of 
both father and mother. His father died October 3, 1826, and his mother 
January 15, 1827, during the prevalence of an epidemic. 

He then l)ecame the charge of his brother John, than whom no one 
could have been better fitted to undertake the guidance of his youth. 

His mother had designed him from the cradle for the Christian 
ministry; in the language of piety, she consecrated him to God. What 
that mother's teachings were, none who have been blessed in like manner 
need be told. In a letter written when men were charging him with 
infidelity, he- speaks of having " never forgotten the instructions of a 
mother, the prayer she taught me at night, the hymns she sang when my 
aching head was pillowed on her bosom." Who shall say the mother's 
consecration was not accepted, that the mother's prayer that he might 
become a minister was not answered, in a larger and wider sense than 
her faith even dreamed of? His father, acquiescing in the mother's wish, 
intended to give Frederick a college education, and the design was 
carried out by using for that purpose the .share of property left him. 

As a boy Frederick was bright, earnest, original, inventive, and inquisi- 
tive about the reason of things. From his earliest years he was passionately 
fond of nature. He was at home in the woods. The animals, tame and 
wild, and the birds, were his companions. He especially loved tree.'--, 
plants, and flowers. A few years afterwards he became much inter- 
ested in the matter of phrenology as a science; a practical argument in 
its favor being that a phrenologist, who e.xamined him, among other things 
said that his "bump of order was very largely developed." A story told 
of his boyhood seemed to verify the assertion : 

The summer before he was ten years old he attended scliool on "the 
Oreen." He enjoyed visiting and talking with old Captain , an in- 
telligent, l)ut shiftless and somewhat intemperate man, living near the 
school-house, whose tloor-yard was distiguretl by several gnarled apple-tree 
logs and stum|)s, which the; Cajjtain, thinking too hard and knotty for 
wedge and axe, had left to impress their unsightly ugliness on all who 
came to the house. LittU- Fred could not bear their appearance, and 
teased the old man to work them up into fire-wood, and, as a last resort, 
agreed to furnish (lowtler to lilast them and assist in the work. Get- 
ting the money from his mollu-r, he procured the powder, and passed 
mornings and evenings and all the school noonings and recesses in help- 



EARLY LIFE AND STRUGGLES. 2" 

ing forward the undertaking. One afternoon he came home early, with 
a sad and disappointed face, and, to his mother's inquiry into the cause, 

repHed: "Mother, the fun is all over. Captain has tlrimk up the 

powder." 

A lady, who was his teacher at the age of twelve, says she never en- 
joyed teaching any one so much ; he was so eager to learn, "so inter- 
ested in his studies, especially in natural philosophy." At thirteen he 








%^~^ 



sAUNTIiRlNG GROCNDb. 



attended a school in Cornwall, Conn., taught by the Rev. William 
Andrews. One of his then schoolmates, the Rev. O. S. St. John, writes 
thus his recollection of him: 

" Among my pleasantest memories are incidents connected with the 
Cornwall school, where I first became acquainted with him. I admired 
him then for his frank, genial, generous qualities, and, though we have not 
often met since we parted at Cornwall, I have never forgotten my pleasant 
companionship with him. I have scarcely ever met one of our school- 
mates during all these intervening years but his name came up with 
pleasant remarks concerning his comluct wliile at school with us, and his 
useful life and historv since." 



2^ THE MASTER OE •■THE GUXXERVr 

His iinniedialc preparation for coUegf was under tlie tuition of the 
Rev. Watson \V. Andrews, son of his Cornwall teacher, who taught the 
academy in lutlea during the years 183 1 and 1832. Mr. Andrews, on 
learning of Mr. Gunn's death, wrote of his former pupil: "It is fifty 
years this ver\- autumn since I went to Washington, and he, a bright, 
genial bov, was one of my scholars. 1 soon saw how full of promise he 
was, and became strongl)- drawn to him. The following winter he was 
again under my care, and my attachment grew as I became more thor- 
oughly acquainted with his mind and heart." 

All his schoolmates and associates who still live speak of him, at this 
period of his life, with the same affection and enthusiasm manifested by 
those who became drawn to him in later and stormier years. He was 
their leader, anci won their regard by the warmth of his friendship. He 
entered Yale College in the class of 1837, being at the time of his admis- 
sion nearly seventeen years of age. Among his classmates were Chief 
justice M. R. \\ aite. United States Senator William M. Evarts, Judge 
Edwards Pierrepont, Professor Benjamin Silliman, and others whose 
attainments have been conspicuous. His jjhysical development had 
been slow, and. although always foremost in athletic exercises, sports, 
and games, sinewy and strong beyond his mates, he was very small in 
stature when he entered college. The contest for the class choice of 
"minor bull\- " was between him and Mr. Evarts, who was elected. 

His scholarship was good but not conspicuous. He was not a book- 
worm : not a plodder. The time and energy which, perhaps, otherwise 
applied, might have won him the first honors, were largely used in the 
study ot literature and poetry, and in ph}sical culture. In the gymnasium 
he was excelled by none ; growing rapidly, he reached in college his full 
stature of six feet, and became a model of manly grace and strength. 
Transferred to the city he lost none of his love for country surroundings. 
He excelled in the study of botany. He loved the freedom of the open 
fields — the solitude of the sea-shore. In those days, as all through his 
later years, he was fond ot hunting and fishing. He enjoyed such pas- 
times with the relish of the true hunter and angler, whose real pleasure 
is found not in killing game or catching fish, but in the exhilaration which 
comes to one who roams alone the woods and fields, in the quiet peace of 
mind experienced when he wanders by the brookside, and watches the flow 
of the rippling water. Such a sportsman, truly 

" Exempt from public haunt, 
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 



EARLY LIFE AND STRUGGLES. ,5 

From his infanc\' he practiced much with the bow. Always deft in the 
use of tools, he made for his own use while in colle_(;e a bow, the work- 
manship and strength of which his classmates still speak of with wonder ; 
a bow which none but he could fully draw. With this he matle lon_o; 
excursions into the open country about New Haven, brin^jino- back ^ame 
of various kinds which he had killed with his arrow, almost as sure of his 
mark with this weapon as he afterwards became witli his unerring- rifle. 




A I RUTT s IRK AM. 



Had he been in college twenty years later he would have been first in the 
University boat crew, the athlete of his class. But physical culture in col- 
lege was then in its infancy, and the student who became noted for strength 
and endurance was rather criticised than encouraged by the Faculty. In 
this, as in so many other things, Mr. (Umn was aliead of his lime. His 
ideal was manliness. His development of that ideal was along the line 
of physical, intellectual, and sentimental growth. He culti\ ated muscle, 
health, imagination, taste, intellect! His unusual moral development 
came later in life, as we shall see. His idea of education, acted upon in 
his own college experience as well as when he came to be a teacher, was 
the perfecting of a noble manhood — the creating of a nol)le life. He 
studied rather for the effect oi stud\- upon the mind and ht^art than for 
4 



26 THE MASTER OF "THE GUNXERVr 

position in his class. He had no ilesire to Ijc thought a scholar. He 
acquired learning that he might know himself a man. He was singularly 
oblivious to what the world calls fame. He would never contend for 
place. Others might have the honors of his class; he was content with 
the consciousness of power and benefit derived from study. At graduation 
he took one of the minor appointments, a dissertation. While his scholar- 
ship was by no means deficient, the impression he made upon his class- 
mates was produced by his manliness. This is well stated by Professor 
Silliman, who, writing of him soon after his death, referring to his college 
tlavs, sa_\s : " His very distinctly pronounced individuality and manliness 
are shar[)l\- defined in my memory." In college, as elsewhere, his sturdy, 
generous, and gentle nature inspired an affection rare among men. Sel- 
dom seeking friendship, he always welcomed it. His college course 
stimulated his love of the noble and generous in man, and his natural 
hatred of meanness. His exemplars were not the scholars and warriors of 
thi past, but its patriots, its poets, its heroes. Tell was to him greater 
than Napoleon, Milton nobler than Bacon. Striving to live according to 
his highest conception of a true manhood, he could tolerate no lower aim 
in others. The pursuit of wealth, the push for position, the struggle for 
power, seemed to him ignoble. His standard of manhood was in many 
respects original, not patterned after others, but rather modeled upon 
his own conception of what was honest, true, and grand. Imperfect in some 
respects it doubtless was; marred by youthful but harmless follies it may 
have been ; it unquestionably was modified in after years by thought and 
experience. But his aspiration, we may almost say his only aspiration, was 
always the same. It was simply to live the life of a true man, regardless 
of consequences, defiant ot the criticisms ot those who could not or would 
not appreciate his purpose. 

Returning to Washington after graduation, he disappointed many, who 
expected him to adopt immediately some profession, by seeming careless 
and aimless as to his future. The lK)mestead had been sold: and his sister, 
Mrs. Lewis Canfield, then living in the house whicli has since become the 
" Ciunnery," invitt-d him to make his home with her. How many there 
are who, with the writer, will remember with pleasure never to be forgot- 
ten the hours passed with Mr. Gunn in "his room," just to the left of the 
main entrance, where we iu'st l)ecanie acquainted with him — where he first 
began to influence our lives, inspiring in us the ambition he could not 
feel, and impressing us with that inner life we could not but admire. 
The small but choice library he had brought from college — what a treas- 
ure we thought it as he opened up its wealth ! How he clad the authors 



EARLY LIFE AND STRUGGLES. 



27 



with a lite mort; divine than human as he read liieir writings! How his 
kindly interest in us kindled our aspirations, and begat in us resolutions 
which thereafter took no note of obstacles but to overcome them. A very 
bright and dear sanctuary was that room. The flowers that we looked 
upon from the windows, planted and tended by his hands, were the 
brightest and rarest we have ever seen ; but the brightest and rarest of all 
was his life as it unfolded and bloomed be- 
fore our young eyes. Aimless at that time 
men may have deemed his life to be, but to 
us it was rich and grand. He was a teacher 
in spite of himself: he taught us how 
to live. < \ » 

For a while his townsmen thcnu'ht 




that his college life had been of 
little advantage to him. Judea 
was very much of a Puritan com- 
munity in those days, and its people 
were "straight-laced and long-faced." 
Acts which would now pass for harmless 
frolic were then regarded by the elect with a kind of solemn horror 
ludicrous to look back upon. Mr. Gunn was full of youthful spirits. He 
loved fun, he enjoyed a practical joke, he liked to display his strength, 
and he occasionally engaged in some harmless schemes planned and 
executed expressly to shock the severe and staid proprieties of the 
Puritan village. The militia system had outliv(?d its usefuln(;ss. It was 
a farce, and the State and the village as well as Mr. Gunn knew it to 
be a farce; but the "trainings" and the trappings were prescribed by 



28 THE MASTER OF ^-THE GUNNERY." 

law, anil the law must be obeyed. Mr. Gunn refused to obey the law, 
and directed the shafts of his satire against the system. Many were the 
practical jokes, intended to cast ridicule upon the colonels and captains, 
which were laid at his door. If the officers were "waked" too early and 
too rudely, by the tolerated custom of firing- a salute under their windows, 
on the morning of the general muster, Mr. (junn was sure to have inspired 
the program. If a notice for drill was posted on the sign-post, purporting 
to be signed by the proper company officers, but commanding the privates 
to appear in uniforms which would have outdone the dress of r'alstaff's 
ragged regiment, Mr. Gunn was sure to have been the author. And so all 
the extravagances invented, and all the pranks played in ridicule ot the 
militia, were charged up to his account. 

The custom, long honored in New England villages, of ringing the 
church-bell on the occasion of weddings, was thought to be undignified, 
and it was solemnly voted in Societ\' meeting that it should be discon- 
tinued. But no matter how securely the church and bell-tower might be 
fastened, no matter how carefully rope and bell-tongue were hid away, 
when the hour for the wedding came the bell would ring. The agencies 
were invisible, hvxX. the sound of the bell was certain. The people were 
sure that no one but " I'Ved " ( iunn could be the author of the ingenious 
schemes devised to thwart the august will ot the .Society and shock the 
village propriety. And so, for a time, the solemn magnates of Judea 
wagged their heads anci lamented that Mr. Gunn's college life had re- 
sulted in his becoming " too fast." Writing at tliis distance of time, it 
may be truly said that if the charge implied any real impropriety of life or 
conduct, anything dishonorable or mean, it was wholly unfountled. 

The following story of one ot Mr. Gunn's frolics may be taken as an 
illustration of the way in which he " sow.ed his wild oats": 

.Soon after leaving college, he went with a companion, still living, 
who relates the inciilent, to attend a "general training" at \\'oodl)ur\-. 
For some years gamblers had tVequented such gatherings, and had lined 
the streets of Woodbury with their tables and games. Though the citizens 
felt their presence to be a disgrace, and knew their acts to be illegal, no 
one dared to molest them. .Mr. Gunn proposed to his companion to " clean 
them out"; and so the two, with an air ot authority, went tlirough the 
streets seizing and breaking the gambling-tables. The gami^lers and 
people looked on in astonishment, either paralyzed by the audacity of the 
act or supposing the young men to be otificers of the law. 

One gambler, a big, powerful f(;llow, attempted to resist; but with one 
blow of the fist Mr. Gunn laid him at full lengfth on the eround. This 



EARLY LIFE AND STRUGGLES. 29 

was the end of gambling at " y-iaeral trainings" in Woodbury. [udgc 
Phelps, the local guardian of the peace, said that he did not propose that 
the enforcement of law in Woodbury should be left to two Washington boys. 

The reason tor Mr. Gunn's hesitation in ad()|)ting some profession in 
life was twofold. He was really unambitious, in the po[)ular sense of the 
term, and, though not without purpose, was reticent about himself and his 
plans. Unambitious, because, to one whose only standard of success was 
to live truly, the triumphs of wealth and fame had no attraction. But he 
had cherished all through his college course the purpose of becoming a 
physician. To his mind the medical profession opened the largest field 
of helpfulness to others, and, therefore, beckoned him to his duty. How 
he clung to this purpose, and how disappointed he was when he found 
that he could not enter that field, only a few of his nearest friends ever 
knew. It was a physical weakness that stood in the way. Strong and 
courageous beyond most men, he could not witness intense pain without 
fainting. He made strong efforts to overcome this infirmity, I)ut without 
success. He was often in attendance as nurse in cases of great suffering, 
and made it a point to be present as frequently as possible at surgical 
operations, determined to conquer his weakness by an effort of will. It 
was impossible. Convinced that he could never cure himself, he was 
compelled to relinquish this dream of usefulness and to give up the only 
profession for which he believed himself fitted. 

In the autumn of 1837, and while still hoping and expecting to become 
a doctor, and for the purpose of earning money to enable him to pursue 
his medical studies, he began teaching at the Academy in New Preston. 
He had little faith in his capacity as an instructor, and only engaged in it, 
as he supposed, temporarilw 

The winters of 1837-8 and 1838-9 were thus passed. His teaching 
was successful, his school large and prosperous. His associations were 
pleasant, and his life tranquil and happy. He began to find that teaching- 
was congenial. He began to see the opportunity it afforded to mold char- 
acter, and to think seriouslv of following it in lieu of the metlical |)rofes- 
sion which he had so reluctantly abandoned. He began to see that the 
true surgery was to cure mental and moral disease. He had a strong at- 
tachment for Judea — love of locality was strong in his nature; and when 
his success as a teacher in New Preston had convinced him of his fitness 
for the work, and created a love for it, he turned instinctively to his native 
village as the place for his best work. 

In the autumn of 1839 the "Academy," which stood on the rocks 
between the. church and the present "Hall," being vacant, Mr. Gunn 



30 



THE MASTER OF ^-THE GUNNERY." 



obtained permission of the trustees, and opened his school in it. His suc- 
cess in New Preston had given him fame as a teacher, and the school- 
room was filled to overflowing. He felt then that he had found his mis- 
sion in life. He was still in the freshness of youth. He had met with no 
adversity to chill his affectionate nature. He had recovered from his dis- 
appointment in not being permitted to follow his chosen profession, and 







o|',vright, 1886, hy Harper ii lirothel 



"THE KLNMNc; ItKODK.' 



felt the ardor of fresh enthusiasm in adopting the new one. His system 
of instruction then, as in later times at the Gunnery, was unique, aiming 
at broad manhood and character rather than the mere enforcement of 
mental discipline and the inculcation of dry rules and formulas. It will 
be described more minutely in another chapter. 

His development had thus far been in the direction of mental and senti- 
mental growth. His brain had become keen and analytical ; he was logical 



EARLY LIFE A X D STRUGGLES. 



31 



and a dangerous antagonist in debate. He had cultivated a pure and ele- 
vated taste, and an admiration for the noble and heroic, but his moral na- 
ture as yet had had little to test it. Naturally of upright life, he had had 
little occasion to think of abstract principles or to study abstract questions 
of duty. But a crisis was coming. Manliness, truth, principle, were words 
whicli were to have new meanings for him. Right was to become to him 
the touch-stone of life. To follow duty wherever and how(!ver it seemed 
to lead was to be for him a new experience, and dutv and right were to 
lead him into the face of trials, of difficulties, of opposition, of persecution, 
through detraction and abuse, such as we, with the lapse of these inter- 
vening years, can scarcely realize. 

It was the time of the fierce antislavery excitement — one of those 
periods in the histor\- of communities when the hearts of men are stirred 
to attack great and hideous wrongs, and to do battle for the right with a 
zeal and courage which cannot be hindered or abated until the right 
triumphs — a time when not only fetters on human limbs but fetters on 
human thought were to be broken. 

.\ great reform had begun. A few men had seen the wickedness of 
slavery and had fathered the movement for its abolition. Human rights 
in the eyes of these men had become sacred, and they had determined that 
they should be recognized and respected. But the)- were a few in number. 
Slavery was strongly intrenched and deiended. Its power was every- 
where felt; its influence penetrated the state, the church, society. It was 
a fearful sin and crime against God and against man, and c}'es to see its 
wickedness and courage to attack it were given to only a inw rare souls. 
They made the fight manfully and nobly, but they were met and opposed 
by almost the entire people. An abolitionist was but one against a hundred 
or a thousand. The assailants of slavery were proscribed, shunned, 
mobbed, and treated as social outcasts. Neither they nor their children 
were welcomed in the house of one who was not an abolitionist. 
The social proscription of those days can scarcely be understood or 
imagined. Probably the world has never seen a loftier courage or more 
heroic living than was manifested by the men who saw their duty to 
the slave, and through the slave to humanity. The slave was a niau, 
and, as such, men were ready to suHer all things in his behalf to die if 
necessary. 

Like all reformers, the abolitionist was aggressive. .Slavery was the 
crime of crimes, and it was, in his conviction, the solemn duty of all men to 
attack it. Whoever defended or apologized for it was as wicked as the slave- 
holder. The Whig party was deemed to be governed by the slave-holders. 



^2 THE MASTER OF ''THE GUNNERYr 

so the abolitionist withdrew from it and made war upon it. The Consti- 
tution was claimed to oj-uarantee the right of [property in slaves, and the 
abolitionists repudiated and denounced the Constitution. P)Ut the battle 
raged fiercest in the church. Shivery was defended from the Hilile; church 
organizations refused, upon the demand of the abolitionists, to pass resolu- 
tions against the institution, or to say that slave-holding was incompatible 
with church-membership or Christian character: while luinisters preached 
in favor of slavery and against the abolitionists. 

The little town of Washington was in a fever ot e.xcitement. The 
minister from the pulpit thundered anathemas against the abolitionists, 
while they, in their turn, denounced the church, and those of its members 
who apologized for slavery and the slave-holder, as equal in guilt with 
him. The minister proclaimed the authority of the church to bintl its 
members: the abolitionists, in turn, defied the church. The doctrines of 
the church came to stand for religion, and the abolitionists attacked not 
only the church but its creed. The church retorted with the cry of in- 
fidelity, excommunicated the unruly and insubordinate members, and was, 
for the time being, victorious. It will be readily seen that such a conflict 
went to the roots of religious faith and doctrine. Men became freethinkers, 
in the sense that they thought freely and fearlessly. Sometimes, doubt- 
less, they were wrong, but alwa)s in earnest and outspoken. Creeds 
could not l)ind the consciences of such men. They found a law higlier 
than creeds; they inquired only what was duty to God and man, and did 
their duty as they saw it. 

The abolitionists in Washington were lew, but with God they were a 
host. Conspicuous in their leadership was Mr. Gunn's eldest brother 
[ohn, a man singularly gentle, open-hearted, simple, antl honest, but made 
of the stuff we worship in heroes and martyrs. Although by nature one 
of the most modest and quiet of men, and shrinking from public gaze, 
he surprised both friends and foes by becoming one of the boldest, sternest, 
;uid most aggressive champions of the slave. His intellect developed into 
wonderful keenness and power. Mis courage was umlaunted, antl, with a 
\rry lew kindred s])irits to aid him, he fought the anlislaver\ battle in 
Washington to its final success. He was excommunicated, but not before 
he had practicall)- excommunicated the church. The minister shunned 
and atlack(;tl him b)- turns, but, whether shunning or attacking, lost 
grountl in the contc'st. 

Lewis, Mr. Gunn's otlici' brother, was a Methodist clerg\nian, whose 
profession took him much away from his native town, Init whose strong 
and unicjue character always impressed his brothers. He also espoused 



EARLY LIFE AND STRUGGLES. , , 

the cause of the slave, denounced the slave-holder and his aljettors, and 
encountered the persecution which befell the outspoken abolitionist. 

As a clergyman he was practically silenced ; the conference would give 
the abolition preacher no charge, and he retired to the seclusion of his 
modest farm. Lewis Gunn was a moral hero. The weapons of his war- 
fare were not carnal, but few men ever wielded the sword of the sjjirit or 
the battle-axe of the reformer more fearlessly. Had he lived in P)Oston or 
Philadelphia lie would have been noted as a leading champion of human 
rights. 

Frederick had taken little interest in this contest until aliout the time 
ot his return from New Preston. Put in such a struggle it was impossible 
for him to be neutral when once his attention was directed to the issue. 
He began to argue with his brother John, whose mind, gathering fire and 
acuteness from his convictions, was more than a match for the cooler logic 
of Frederick. Then he began to read abolition books and papers for the 
purpose of refuting the arguments contained in them, that he might be able 
to convince his brother that the crusade against slavery was wrong. The 
result is easily foreseen. He himself was convinced, and with the lofty cour- 
age of his innate manliness became a leader on the antislavery side. His 
fearlessness, his severity of attack, his ability of statement, and his force of 
argument, marked him out for special condemnation. He was not a church 
member, his manner was not reverential, he had little regard for the out- 
ward formalities of the church, and therefore was the more easily branded an 
"infidel." The issue between him and the minister was well-defined and 
undisguised. The minister proclaimed him a heretic. He proclaimed the 
minister a bigot, and attacked what the minister preached as religion with 
all the weapons at his command. Argument, invective, ridicule, satire, he 
used unsparingly. The church members and the whole community other 
than the abolitionists sided with the minister. Mr. (auin was stigmatized 
as an abolitionist and an infidel, — words of intense reproach, the import of 
which we now but feebly realize. 

The effect of his course on his school can be easily fancietl. Church 
members and jjarents wlio sided with the minister and the church one by 
one withdrew their children. .Some, who secretK' admired his courage 
and would gladl\- ha\'e continueil to patronize him, were torced to with- 
draw their children through fear of losing their position in society: for 
Mr. Gunn, in the estimation of the community, was fast becoming an out- 
cast, and those who would enij^loy him as a teacher must share his 
ostracism. Loss of patronage never for a moment swerved him from his 
course; perhaps it gave a bitterness to his speech in defense of his cause, 

5 



34 



THE MASTER OE ^^THE GUNNERY:' 



hut I do not tliink it embittered his heart. Possihl)- it made him defiant 
of pubHc sentiment in his manner of carrying en the conflict; but I think 
those who knew him best will join me in saying that his real feeling was 
that of pity for his opponents, and that his zeal was never prompted l:)y any 
thought of revenge for his own losses. 

Washington was a station on the "undergroimd railroad," and the oc- 
casional disco\erv of a negro at or near the house of some abolitionist was 




)!■■ TllK. DLDKN TIMK. 



sufficient evidence that the r'ugitive Slave law was deliberately violated 
by the concealing and assisting of escaping slaves. Maii\ were the meet- 
ings held at Mr. (auin's room and elsewhere, attended onlv by a few of the 
more daring abolitionists, in which plans were discussed and matured by 
which the fleeing bondman was shielded from pursuit and aided in his flight 
toward Canada and liberty. Incredible as it now seems, such conduct was 
realK' considered criminal, — as criminal anil sinful as an)- infraction of the 
moral law. ll was earnestl)- ami solemn!)- C(jntenilcd that Christian dut)- 



EARLY LIFE AXD STRUGGLES. 



35 



required church members tu make every exertion to ascertain to whom the 
fugitives harbored b)- the aboHtionists belonged, and to aid in their return 
to their masters. Sermon after sermon was preached, based on Paul's 
Epistle to Philemon and the assertion that Paul returned Onesimus as a 
runaway slave, declaring the obligation of Christians to do all in their 
power to deliver the fugitive slave to his pursuers, and denouncing the 
sinfulness of all who concealed him or aided his flight. A system of espi- 
onage was organized, by those who accepted such preaching, for the pur- 
pose of ascertaining whether Mr. Gunn and others were in fact concealing 
and aiding fugitive slaves, of finding out to whom they belonged, and of 
furnishing information to their masters which should result in tlieir cap- 
ture and the criminal prosecution of those who had harbored them. It is 
believed that such espionage in several instances resulted in putting tlie 
agents of slave-holders on the track of the fugitives; but no captures were 
made, and so great was the care exercised by the abolitionists that suffi- 
cient evidence tor their [irosecution was never obtained. When the pursuit 
became too warm, the fugitive was driven in the night to the next "station" 
in Torringford, and the men-hunters were compelled to abandon the chase. 
Mr. Gunn never denied his violation of the Fugitive Slave law. He asserted 
his obligation to obey "the higher law " of a common brotherhood. He 
gloried in whatever oblocpiy attached to him for being true to humanity in 
disregarding an inhuman and barbarous enactment. 

Three antislavery newspapers, — the Hci-ald of Freedom, edited by N. 
P. Rogers; the A nti- Slavery Standard, then edited by Lydia Maria Child ; 
and the Liberator, by William Lloyd Garrison, — seem to have had the great- 
est influence upon his opinions. They are mentioned in the above order, 
for the reason that they appear to have impressed him in that order. The 
Herald of Firedoiii, breathing the fiery zeal and scathing denunciation 
of its editor, seems to have most inspired him, while the no less radical I)ut 
more gentle writings of Mrs. Child not only convinced his intellect but 
filled his heart with her own sweet spirit. Such a conflict had a wider 
reach than the question of the right or wrong of human slavery. The very 
foundations of human belief were involved; all creeds, all faiths, all princi- 
ples were questioned. It was an era of intense thought, of rapid progress. 
Some great thinkers challenged the world's thought. Carlyle, Emerson, 
Theodore Parker, were appealing to mankind to cut loose from formal 
beliefs and question Truth fearlessly. Mr. Gunn read their writings and 
admired their thoughts. To read Carlyle, Emerson, or Parker sympathet- 
icall\- was, in that community, conclusive proof of infidelity. To quote 
them was to render one as obnoxious as to advocate the views advanced 



36 THE .]fASTE/i OF -'THE GUA'^'EJiY." 

b\- Tom Paine in his "Age of Reason." Mr. Gunn never avoided the 
conflict. PubHc meetings were the special method of spreading al)o]ition 
principles. Lecturers from abroad, men of rare eloquence, expoundeil the 
great truths of freedom. Abby Kelly was one of the lecturers. Probably 
Judea was more indignantly hostile to her than to any other champion of 
the cause. The action of the church regarding her has been described in 
a previous chapter. All these meetings, held within a radius of several 
miles, were attended and promoted b)- Mr. Gunn. " Mob law" was then 
not unfrequent. Many of the abolitionists were non-resistants, but Mr. 
Gunn was not. He was exceptionally strong and active. It was under- 
stood that if mobbed or attacked he would defend himself and his associ- 
ates. Many were the mutterings and threatenings at meetings where he 
was in attendance, but the attack was never made. His presence, doubt- 
less, prevented many a scene of mob violence. Men respected his physi- 
cal strength and courage if they did not his convictions. He seldom spoke 
in public. I remember but two or three instances in wliich he took part 
in antislaverv meetings, and then without formality or attempt at elo- 
quence. P)Ut in private conversation he let pass no opportunit\- of enforc- 
ing his principles. In conversational discussions he was invincible. He 
seemed to know that he was strongest there. Wherever men met, aboli- 
tion and the abolitionists were the topics of talk ; and wherever the su])ject 
was broached in his presence he took up the cudgels in their behalf Of 
course it was ruin to his school. In 1843-4 the number of his pupils was 
reduced to eleven — all, I think, children ot abolitionists. 

The trustees of the ".Academy" had prohibited its use by him, and so 
his " room " in his sister's house, l^efore spoken oi, was fitted up as a 
school-room. Teacher and scholars were now alike under a social ban, 
and were practicalK' forbidden entrance to a majority of the families in 
Judea society. In 1.844-5 li'"^ scholars were but nine. These were his 
darkest days. In the iall of 1845 some friends in New Preston invited 
him to return lo that society and teach there again, Possibl)- a little 
local rivalr\- set the tide in this direction : the acquaintances whom he matle 
thcTc in his former engagement sympathized with him in his persecution, 
anel though not abolitionists they were friends ot Mr. (lunn, and proposed, 
as the-\- expressed it, to "show [udea that Mr. (lUiin ci.uld teach school 
in Xc:w Preston il he uv^.v an aliolitionist." When it was knuwn that he 
proposed again to open a sclu_>ol m New Preston, his o[)[)()nents in |utlea 
used every efiort to persuade parents not to stnd their children to him. 
Everything was said that couUl be to show that he held opinions which 
made him a teacher to whom it was dansjerous to intrust the training of 



EARLY LIFE AXD STRUGGLES. 

youth ; all his sayings respecting the church, ministers, church members, 
the Sabbath, the Bible, were not only made use of. but were deliberately 
exaggerated and given meanings he never intended they should have. 
The charge that he was an abolitionist could not seriously injure his pros- 
pects in New Preston, and so the greater stress was laid upon his " heresy," 
upon his "infidelity." In many instances persons who had intended and 
promised to send him pupils were either dissuaded or frightened, but the 
Iriends who had invited him and pledged themselves to .support him stood 
true ; many abolitionists from surrounding towns sent their sons and daueh- 




^^M^»..5/^_^,;^^ 



ters, and so the school was a success. It was continued through the wintt-rs 
of 1845-6 and 1846-7. Early in 1846 he began a correspondence with a 
dear friend whose good opinion he valued, and whose mind he feared had 
been poisoned by the reports which his enemies had circulated as to his 
opinions and his assumed irreligious belief E.xtracts from that corre- 
spondence will be found among his written words which form the con- 
cluding chapter of this book. They give not merely a vivid pen-picture of 
the hatred and bitterness of this epoch, but attest how tar ahead of his 
times was his undaunted spirit, how I)ravely he waged the battle, and 
how far removed from doubt and unbelief were the convictions which 
urged him on to dut\'. 

During his teaching in \ew Preston his summers were passed in 
Judea, and he was frequently at his sister's during the winter months. 



38 



2^ HE ^[A STER O E ^' THE G UNNE R ) ' 



iM-om his colk-ge days he had felt an attachment for Miss Abigail I. 
Brinsmade, daughter of General Daniel B. Brinsmade, which had in- 
creased with manhood, and ripened into a deep and tender love. His 
endeavor to secure a reciprocal affection on her part was made under 
difficulties. General Brinsmade was too noble and liberal a man to close 
the door of his house against Mr. Gunn's visits, as did many other ot the 
leading citizens of Judea ; but he was warmly attached to the church, its 
doctrines, and its forms, and while in his own heart he felt that slavery 
was wrong, he felt no less that the abolitionists were wrong in their attack 
on the church. While he could not justify the clergyman in his severe 
course toward the abolitionists, he could not condemn him without, in his 
own view of the matter, abandoning his fealty to the church. Mr. Gunn 
was most outspoken against the church and Rev. Mr. Hayes, and General 
Brinsmade, while he did not believe Mr. (junn to be an infidel, could not 
approve his proclaimed opinions on religious topics ; nor could he be 
entirely indift'erent to the low esteem in which Mr. Gunn was held by 
most of the community. While, therefore, Mr. Gunn was not excluded 
from the family, he certainly was discouraged as a suitor. It required 
great courage and independence on Miss Brinsmacle's part to accept his 
attentions ; Init she had been acquainted with him from his boyhood, she 
knew his noble nature, and could not be convinced by an\' clamor of preju- 
dice that he was unworthy of her. .Seldom able to meet, except in the 
presence of others, they compared views in a correspondence which lasted 
tor years, and fully disclosed to each the depths of the other's character. 
rhe\- became engaged, but the engagement was kept secret by them 
until the consent of General and Mrs. Brinsmade, somewhat tardily 
given, was secured, when it was made public. When Mr. Gunn was 
once accepted as the future son-in-law of General Brinsmade his posi- 
tion was measurably strengthened in the community. The I)rinsmade 
family was one of the most influential in Washington, and to attack Mr. 
Gunn now was not so safe. But whate\er Mr. Hayes' mistakes ma\- have 
been, cowardice was not one of his failings. His denunciation of Mr. 
(lunn as an infidel, a man dangerous to societ\', a person to be shunned 
and avoided, was continued. General Brinsmade and his family mildly 
resented his assaults, and Mr. Hayes carried the war into the midst of 
theiu. Mar\- Brinsmadt', A])l)ie's younger sister, had been most success- 
ful in establishing a \oung ladies' Seminar)- in fudea. She became 
fainous as a teacher, and man\' \oung ladies of distinguished families 
from all parts of the country were her pupils. Calisthenics were adopted 
as a school-exercise, and occasionally the pupils engaged in parlor danc- 



EARLY LIFE AND STRUGGLES. 3^- 

ini,'-, in which youiiM- g-entlemen also participated. On one or two occa- 
sions, at General Hrinsmade's, the company was entertained by some 
simple tableaux, in which a niece of General Brinsmade took part with 
others from the Seminary. Without warning-, like thunder from a clear 
sky, Mr. Hayes preached a sermon denouncing- calisthenics, ]:)romiscuous 
dancing-, and talileaux, as the open service of Satan and the sure con- 
comitants of vice. In directness of attack, and pointed reference to those 
who had participated in such amusements, he adopted the style of his 
former pulpit attacks upon Mr. Gunn and the abolitionists. Hut he 
had gone too far. The friends of General Brinsmade and his family 
rallied to their supjiort. The proposed attempt to discipline the young 
ladies was abandoned, and a majority of the church and society concluded 
that Mr. Hayes was the real "disturber of Israel." The six months' 
notice provided for in his settlement was given, and his connection with 
the church as its pastor was dissolved. With his dismissal tranquillity 
was gradually restored, and the troubles in church and society healed. 
The abolitionists who had been excommunicated were (privately, though, 
not publicly) requested to reunite with the church, but declined. The 
contest, however, was ended. The abolitionists were no longer despised ; 
no longer derided or proscribed. They had won the fight. Mr. Gunn 
was largely its hero and leader. 

Justice to Mr. Hayes requires the statement that subsequent reflection 
led him to modify his views of the antislavery movement, and softened his 
feelings toward the abolitionists, particularly toward Mr. Gunn, and it 
was one of the great joys of Mr. Gunn's later years to know that all the 
old bitterness had given place to kindly sentiments. He was profoundly 
moved when he learned a few years before his death of the change of feel- 
ing on the part of Mr. Hayes, the menibers of whose family were among 
Mr. Gunn's most esteemed friends. 

Dates have been to some extent anticipated in l)ringing the history 
of the struggle to its close. Before the dismissal of Mr. Hayes by the 
church, Mr. Gunn had gone to Towanda, Pennsylvania, to take charge of 
the Academy there. Towanda was the home of David Wilmot, the author 
and champion of the " Wilmot Proviso," whose Congressional district had 
rallied to his support with wonderful unanimity, and where to be an aboli- 
tionist did not subject a man to oIjIocju)-. At Towanda lived Henry Booth, 
a native of Roxbury and an old friend of Mr. Gunn, who, sympathizing 
with him in his persecution, having confidence in his gift of teaching, and 
believing that Towanda offered to him an opportunity for a large success, 
persuaded Mr. Gunn to relinquish his school in New Preston and estab- 



40 



THE MASTER OE -^THE GUNNERY" 



lish himself there. He went, not without many misgivings. He loved 
his home, his native place, and doubted his abilit\' to succeed in a new 
tiekl ; but he felt the necessity of doing something which should give him 
the means to provide a home for his future bride. He telt a spasm ot the 
ordinary ambition of men ; the ambition to make money. His ideas of the 
home which he wanted, and the life which he and his chosen one would 
spend in it, were characteristic of the man. A few extracts from his letters 



GI.IMPSK 1 KOM A GUNNKUY AVINDOVV. 



to Miss Hrinsmade nia\ l)e introiluced here, as they open a window into his 
inner life : 

" One thought troubles mc. I tliink of it a great deal. I feel that I am good 
for nothing, am doing nothing, am engaged in n<) business, have no profession, no 
activity, no energy, no iiulustr)-. I am laz}'. shiftless, improvident, good for 
nothing. I can n^t set myself to work. True, I have been busy heretofore, so 
that I have not hail time to lea\'e home much. Aly sister depends on me for a 
good many ser\ices which nohotly else could render; but still I ought to ha\'e a 
life business, a steady and remunerati\e occupatiim, a home and a livelihood, so 
that you and I can pass the remainder of our da_\s in happiness and usefulness. I 
long and pray for some " birth of I'rox'idence," as Cromwell used to say, to place 
me in the field of ni)' labors or show me for what good thing I was created. I 
have some poor talent for teaching, but dare not rely on it, because the unpopu- 
larity of my religious opinions, as well as my strict adherence to unjxipular reforms, 



EARLY LIFE AXD STRUGGLES. 



41 



would alwa}-s render me an object of suspicion. I can not rely on this in an illiberal 
world ; people w ill not tolerate me in that capacity. 1 could carry a hod or dii; a 
ditch, and find employment in spite of my opinions ; but men will not allow the 
teacher of their children to have a soul of his own. If I were to establish an acad- 
em}^ it would be banned and blasted ; so I dare not think of that. ... I 
thought the assurance of your love would inspire me, would show me what 1 ou;ght 
to do. I said, in a little while I shall find my work. I thought soon to be in busi- 
ness, but midsummer has come and here 1 am. Now )ou must athise me, inspire 
me, drive me away, send me to Oregon if )^ou will, but you must make me do 
something." 

How little he realized then that he was to find his mission, his "life 
business," in teaching. But he was not always thus despondent. In 
another letter, written like the last from New Preston, in the summer of 
1847, he says : 

" Let me tell you my dream of happiness. A sunny nook in some t|uiet little 
home, with friends, the few that love us, books full of noble thoughts that encourage 
us in a truly heroic spirit, flowers that keep the heart ever young while the head 
grows old, leisure to cultivate our minds, to grow up together to the standard of a 
noble Christian character, and the ever-pleasant consciousness that we are fulfilling 
the mission whereunto a loving Father hath sent us. This has been m>' delightful 
da}--dream. I have scarceh- dared hope for it, but now I kmn^.' that )-our heart as 
well as mine longs for such a life. We will never let our souls grow old worship- 
ing Mammon. We will never forget, as so man)- do, the culture of our higher 
life, the living a spiritual life ; we will listen to the gieat voices that through the 
world are uttering the mighty words by which society is stirred ; we will do our 
part to elevate human life, to disseminate and exemplify those high sentiments 
W'hereby the next era of man is to be more noble than any the world e\'er knew. 
The great movements of the age, we will keep a careful e}-e on thein, while, day 
by day, between ourselves and the world around us, we will lead a life of loving 
fidelity. We must not forget this. It is what God wants his creatures to do. 
How the world almost universally forgets this ; how tlie_\' li\e as though to make 
mone)', to gain popularity, to acquire something out of them, was the great end of 
existence, letting character, soul culture, growth in soul, go uncared for, as though 
these were of no consequence ! I have been afraid lest, if I entered the strife with 
them, I should become like unto them. 

" What a life we could lead in such a home ! M\' great anxiety is to find such 
a home, to find my work which shall secure us such a home, to put myself in a 
situation to give you such a home, where the friends, the books and the flowers, 
and the leisure for enjoying them, may all be ours — to find this, anil (luickl)-. . . . 
We must talk it up, we must discuss all kinds of business. One thing I want: a 
business which shall keep me at home — such a life as I have led for some years. 
If I only knew how to compass it ! I have been very happy with my sister and 
friends, very happy ; it has been a joy to me to li\-e. ... I hate to go off the 
6 



42 



THE MASTER OF ^^THE GUNNERY." 



Green. I liate to come to New Preston. Ikit then, knowinij I must come, I come 
contented. Oh, that I liad my life mapped out before me, a fi.xed home, a sure 
business, a certaint}' of a h\-chliO(.)d." * 

What a contrast between his aspirations and the ambition of the 
present day. Money-makuig-, money-getting, money-power, had no place 
in his longings. His was a great soul ; and it was too completely absorbed 
with great thoughts to leave any room for selfish desires. 








"W 


i 


■n^li 1 


lai 


1 ij 


^Ss 



ZL^di 




THK. TOWAND.\ AC.XDEMY IN l8 
(KF.STORILD FliOM PHOTOGRAPHS. DK.WVN FY l". 



On the 1st of September, 1847, he opened his school in Towanda. 
The enterprise was most promising. His methods of teaching were new, 
his discipline unique, and, though somewhat criticised, the school was, on 
the whole, popular. Scholars multiplied, and before the close of the first 
term numbered more than one hundred. Mr. Gunn looked forward to his 
marriage at no distant day. He seemed to have "established an academy" 
that was not to be "banned and blasted " on account of his opinions, and 
to have found the "work" which was to secure him the home of his 
dreams. 

In March, 1848, at the end of his second school term, he returned to 
Washington to be imited to one who had already ennobled and sweetened 

* Other IcUi'is frdiii Mr. Crunn. contL-ni])or;\iK-ous willi the above, were origiiiallj inchided in this 
ch;ipti-r, but liavc lu'cn transferred to " Mr. C.iinn's Written Words" at the end of the volume. 



EARLY LIFE AND STRUGGLES. 



43 



his life, and who thenceforth was to become part of it. He was married, 
on the 1 6th of April following, in the church which had been the scene 
of so many conflicts, and in which he had been so fiercely assailed. The 
wedding ceremony was performed just as the sun was sinking to rest over 
the western hills he loved so much. The village lads, unable to forget 
the stories of his youthful bell-ringing pranks, revived the traditional 
custom for the occasion, and the village-bell pealed out its happy notes 
as the wedding-party left the church. Returning to Towanda in time for 
the summer term he resumed his school, which was continucxl through 
the summer, autumn, and winter of 1848, and tlu' spring of 1849. 

During the winter he began housekeeping in the second story of a 
quiet, unpretentious frame house, near the north end of the main street. 
The "snug nook," the "quiet little home," consisted of two rooms; but it 
was brightened by contentment and hallowed by love, and lacked only 
the presence of the far-away }udea friends. Here the first child, Daniel 
Brinsmade Ciunn, named after his grandfather, was born, [anuary 9, 1849. 

After the birth of Dannie, a longing to return to Washington, amount- 
ing almost to home-sickness, took possession of his heart, shared to some 
extent by Mrs. Gunn. Like all true-born Judeans, they yearned to live 
again within its borders. They longed for the companionship of the 
relatives and friends they had left there. Society in Towanda was of a 
different type. It lacked the simplicity, the freedom, the warm-hearted- 
ness to which they had been accustomed ; it was lormal, and for those 
days fashionable and elegant, and Mr. Gunn felt that he could not long 
continue a contented and congenial element in the community. He came 
more and more to see that his "life-work" was to teach, and his judg- 
ment as well as his intense love of localit)- told him that Judea was his 
appointed "field of labor." The "birth of Providence" for which he 
had prayed had taken place. In Judea the verdict against him had been 
reversed, the old-time prejudice had died away. He was assured by 
General Brinsmade and other influential friends that the time had come 
when he could establish a school there without opposition. He needed 
little urging to decide him. In the autumn of 1849 he returned, and began 
teaching again in the Academy on the Green. Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Can- 
field then owned and occupied the house which was the nucleus of the 
present Gunnery. It was not until October, 1850, that, through the gen- 
erous provision of General Brinsmade, Mr. and Mrs. Gunn became its 
owners and keepers, and started the family school which for so man_\- )ears 
has been famous. They began with a dozen boys, and it was not until 
i860 that the number increased, and meanwhile there were two or three 




years when it was reduced ; but there were always the da)' scholars. Thou^'h 
their family of boys was small, and their purse was lig'ht, Mr. and Mrs. 
Gunn had the home of their hopes and prayers, in which they were con- 
stantly together, and in which their thoughts and their endeavors were all 
for the same object. Their labors and their self-denials were unceasing, 
and sometimes the purse was empty ; yet, as surely as it became so, their 
an.Kiety was relieved by some unexpected payment, and they learned a 
peaceful trust in Goil's care of them in that particular as in every other. 
They seemed to rejoice in the self-denials which enabled them to give to 
those in need, and to confer kindnesses on those they loved. Their 
daughter Mary was liorn |anuar\- 20th. 1S53. 

From such beginnings, and with its foundations laid deep in patience, 
self-denial, and tortitutle amid persecution, s|>rang the Cnmnery School. 
The field on which the battle had been so well fought became the field 
on which the grand success of the master's life was subsequently wrought 
out. The very house into which, in 1S44, he retreated, with the little 
handful of scholars that coukl not be driven away from him, l)ecame the 
educational home of humlretls who to-da)', scattered through many states, 
and in many lands, revere his memor)-. Of the " Gunnery," its history, 
its character, its memories, others will write. 



EARLY LIFE AND STRUGGLES. 

I must close this labor of love with the briefest summary of his 
character. 

Mr. Gunn was a rarely developed man, possessing- largely all those 
generous qualities and characteristics which inspire confidence and love in 
others. Keen and vigorous of intellect, he was tender and true of heart. 
He was proud, not haughty. His pride was that of conscious nobility and 
rectitude. He loved God, loved man, loved truth ; and he served God, 
served man, served truth. He hated evil, wrong, falseness, meanness! 
and he made war on them always. He was unflinching in his devotion 
to prmciple — uncompromising in his conflict with the wrong. He was 
pure and virtuous in life, reverent toward goodness and purity, but con- 
temptuous toward bigotry and shams. He had the courage of his con- 
victions, and practiced rigidly what he believed. He was generous in his 
sympathies, warm in his friendships, ardent in his love, "xhere was no 
malice in his nature. Open and frank in his intercourse, helpful in con- 
duct, his example and teaching were an inspiration. His great aim was 
to live a noble life himself, and aid others to live such a life. His ideal 
standard of living was more divine than human, and his struggle was to 
attam his ideal. He may have been faulty; who is perfect ? He may have 
been harsh in his judgments at times ; but it was not because his nature was 
harsh. He was gentle and tender as a woman ; but in the championship 
of the weak he struck harder than he thought. He was unambitious, 
careless of worldly honors, indiff'erent to wealth or fame. Had he chosen 
he could have easily filled a larger place in the world's notice. He neither 
achieved nor sought success as the world measures success ; but he realized 
the great aim of his life in that he lived and died a true man, and impressed 
on many lives the seal of a sterling manhood. 




, 'V'. - -' w / 




Ill 

Mk. Gunn as the Citizen 





S the Gunnery grew in prosperity and prominence it natu- 
rally became so much a part of Washington that its founder 
could not fail to fill a leading place in the little community. 
The same traits that marked his unique discipline of the 
school were shown in all his relations to local affairs. 
His knowledge of bo>- nature was part of a larger knowledge 
of human nature in general ; and in much the same way that 
he shaped youthful character in the school-room, he molded 
public opinion outside of it. For he was not merely a school- 
^"^^-^-^ master by profession, but a born leader of men by virtue of 
^'r^.^ broad and commanding qualities, which impressed themselves 
upon all who knew him, and which in a larger field of activity might have 
gained him a world-wide name. Ambitious chiefly to live a life of the 
fullest manhood, his indifference to fame and fortune limited the circle of 
his reputation, yet strengthened his influence in this chosen locality, and 
brought him into closer relations with the people of his native town 
than could have been held by one whose interests were widely diffused. 
The preceding chapter has recounted the struggles of his early man- 
hood, when he stood in defiant opposition to public opinion, the deter- 
mined champion of humanity and freedom, denounced from the pulpit, 
and condemned by his neighbors to a condition of social ostracism that 
was in striking contrast with the honor in which he was held during the 
last thirty years of his life. Such influence as he had during that earlier 
period was apparently a negative quantity. Yet then it was that he 
showed most strongly the manliest traits of his character, the fearless 
devotion to truth and right, the outspoken hatred of all wrong and 
injustice, which were the source of his power for good in the community, 
and which required the harshness of adversity for their development. So 



^8 THE MASTER OE "THE GUyNERVr 

he must himself ha\e felt when he wrote to her who afterwards became 
his wife : 

" We should be pale and sicklv of soul like greenhouse plants if fed only on 
dew and fanned only by the zephx'r. . . . W'e need all influences. I have been 
growing, I fain would hope, in some degree as God would have me. ... I tor 
m\' share have had abundance of storms and wintry ice — the hate of those I could 
have loved — assaults from envenomed tongues, the opprobrium of those reputed 
good — my name has been cast out as evil; those whom I have loved have been 
warned against me. I have been obliged to bear coldness of look, unkindness of 
speech. . . . This disapprobation of my neighbors to a nature so fond of being 
loved as I am has been my portion of the winter's cold and iciness. This has braced 
my spirit, and has taught me self-reliance to absolve me to myself, and to walk in 
the light of my own conscience, however dim and flickering that light maj' be. 
If I were dumb when humanity wants my voice, if I were to suppress my 
convictions and fetter my soul for the sake of retaining their friendship, I should 
never dare look my own soul in the face again. . . Better to lose all my 

friends by being thoroughly understood than to obtain them by appearing what 
I am not." 

In the words of the Spanish proverb, "All things are possible to him 
who can wait"; and Mr. Gunn had not long to wait, for within two years 
after writing the words above quoted he had returned to Washington 
and established the Gunnery School, and from then on to the time of his 
death he continued to gain in the esteem of the towns-people. 

The turning of the tide in his favor was due to various causes, most 
obviously and immediately to his marriage. In lact, Mr. Gunn is said to 
have once deliberately assigned this as the sole reason of his success, and 
certainly this was one of the marriages that are thought to be made in 
heaven, — a rare union of minds harmonious in their aims and ideals, yet 
differing in such a way as to balance each other. Mrs. Gunn was in 
many ways the complement of his nature. From his earliest manhood 
she was the inspiration of his highest thought, elevating his standard of 
conduct, yet tempering the radical, impetuous elements of his character 
with a sweet, womanly conservatism. .She fully justified his hope that in 
their marriage they " might lead a useful life, culturing in each other a 
love for goodness and nobleness, and a supreme confidence in God." There 
is no question that his alliance to one of the most respected families in 
the community, with the high standing of Daniel I>. Brinsmade, his father- 
in-law, was (jf great advantage to Mr. Gunn at a critical period in his 
career. But the deeper cause of his success is to be found in the char- 
acter of the man himself more than in this or in any external circumstances. 



MR. GUXX AS THE CITIZEN. 



49 



At the same time other things were working- in his favor. A change of 
pubhc sentiment was everywhere taking place on the question of slavery, 
which had been the immediate occasion of his unpopularity. A few had 
always recognized the true nobility of his nature, and this number rapidly 
increased upon his return as the founder of the school. Moreover, as the 
opposition subsided, his own outspoken aggressiveness was diminished. 
Experience taught him the value of tact and conciliation in dealing with 




WASMINGTUN 



men who opposed him through a misconception, though he never re- 
strained his indignation against willful wrongdoing. His instinctive under- 
standing of human nature blended with natural qualities of U'adershi|) to 
give him an influence that grew with each year. 

He was not a regular attendant at town meetings, but was usually 
present when measures of importance were discussed, and particularly 
when his counsel was really needed. In such case all sitles ot a question 
.shared his consideration. liut he never failed to take a position that there 
was no mistaking. In fact, he not only took sides himself but obliged others 
7 



5° 



THE MASTER OE ^-THE Gi'XXERYr 



to do so. It has been saiil ^^\ him that hr coukl not abide the man with two 
opinions, and still less the man withonl anw \'et this positiveness of charac- 
ter was never disphued in an offensive or domineeriny manner. He had an 
inimitable wa\- of statiny his views with a humor peculiar to himself which 
allayed instead of arousing the spirit of opposition, and stood him in 
good stead whenever he had to make friends tor a new measure at first 
impo])ular. It often happened that he would l)e call(;d into the meeting 
as an adviser, when the diversitx' oi opinions and the discussion of 
ill-considered views had resulted in such a confusion of ideas that there 
was no prospect of agreeing upon any plan of action. Then it was that 
some clear-headed person would quietly sup out oi the hall and down the 
hill to the little room in the tower, where Mr. Gunn coidd almost always 
be found. As soon as the matter was stated to him, his ready knowledge 
of local affairs enaljletl him to understand the situation almost instinctivel)-, 
and by the time he had reached the hall his mind had grasped all the essen- 
tial points invoked, and was ready to elucidate it to the perple.xed assem- 
bly. When Mr. Gunn arose to e.xplain himself to the audience of farm- 
ers, all eyes centered on his stalwart form, as he glanced around with 
the humorous twinkle of his eye which presaged the joke or facetious 
statement of the (jut'stion that was followed l)y a biu'st of laughter, and 
put all the listeners into a good humor, preparing them for a favorable 
consideration of his reasons, which were advanced with a clearness and 
persuasiveness that seklom failetl to convince the majority of hearers, 
and to reciMtcile all the opi>osing \iews. 

The homel\- illustrations he tised on such occasions were so well adapted 
to his rural audience that some of them have acquired the currency of 
village proverljs. The followdng, though characteristic enough, is b\- no 
means the best that might have been [jreserved : A certain measure had 
been persistently opposed l)y one man, though favored by all the others. 
Mr. Gunn advised them "to go alicad, and llien if Mr. (the dis- 
senter) continues to hold back, let him till he breaks the breeching." 
Not an elegant metaphor surely, but \ery forcible to the mind of a farmer. 

lie was no autocrat. He could always gi\e full weight to opposing 
considerations and suggestions bv others, anil if, as seldom hajipened, 
his own i)lan was not ado|)ted, no pett\' resentment lingered iri his mind, 
i'^'cn when siibs(.'([nent ex'ents pro\'ed the correctness of his views, he 
was never heard to use the words " 1 told you so," or any equivalent of 
that phrase, f le was far abo\c fuoring an\ plan simply becau.se it was his 
own, and no man could drop |)crsonal Ircling more readil\-. .\n arch foe 
of his, a Democrat, once ran for selectman of the town. Mr. Gunn, who saw 




f^n, 




-2 THE MASTER OF -THE GUNNERYr 

th;j fitness of the man for some local exiy^enc)-, voted for him, and was 
delig'hted when the return of the ballots gave him a majority of one vote. 

It was only when a principle of right and wrong was involved that his 
mind could admit of no debate or compromise. And on the temperance 
(juestion he was more read)' to act than to speak, though he could, and 
sometimes did, both in a ver)- characteristic way. When he had just 
returned from college, an ardent advocate of temperance, barn-raisings 
throughout the country were usually accomplished by the joint labor of 
all the men in the neighborhood, who, in return tor their assistance, were 
treated to a [jlentiful supply of liquor by the owner of the barn. The 
result was often a disgraceful scene of disorder, and the better class of the 
community had already begun a reform. But there was a certain locality 
known by the sulphurous name of "Hell Hollow," where a barn was to be 
rai.sed, and the near neighbors utterly refused to take an\- part in what 
they derisively called a "cold-water" raising. Mr. Gunn determined 
tliat the barn should be raised without resort to whisky. Though many 
doubted his ability to do this, he succeeded in mustering a sufficient force 
on the ground early in the morning of the appointed day, and thus stole 
a march on his " ardent-s|iirit friends," who looked on jeering at the 
teetotalers, Init lending no hand in the work. The "good wife" then 
brought forward the refreshments, consisting of cake and cold water. An 
old gray-headed sinner among the recusants, ot whom there were some 
forty standing around, not one having lifted a finger except to raise the 
cake to his mouth, came up to Mr. Gunn and, slapping him on the shoulder, 
said, " ^'oung man ! you look like a chap who can give a toast. Come, 
give us one!" Mr. Gunn filled his glass to the brim with cold water, and 
raising it exclaimed, " Here's success to the cold-water raising, and no 
thanks to ' Hell Hollow,' or any of the devils in it." 

His aggressiveness in the matter of total abstinence may be judged by 
a single example. During the building of the railroad a man opened in 
Washington a low groggery for the sale of drinks to the workmen grading 
the line. 1 le drove a profitable trade until he was found out. A party of 
substantial citizens, led by Mr. Ciunn, instaiith' visited the hut where the 
liquors were sold, razed it to the turf, and poured every drop of liquor on 
the ground. To the threat of prosecution for damages he promptly 
reijlietl, "I take all the responsibilit)-, sir." 

When a thing needed help he ga\'e it. His fertility of resource was 
always eejuai to the emergenc)-. .\ntl thus it came to pass that when an)' 
public enterprise was broached one of the first questions would be, " Have 
you seen Mr. (iunn ; what does he say about it.''" If his assistance had 



MR. GUNN AS THE CITIZEN. 



53 



been promised, it was sufficient. " Go aheail " was the word, antl go it 
did. The e.xtent of his influence can in some degree be measured by the 
remark often heard since his death, "We have no Mr. Gunn to help us now." 
There are many instances of his kindness and ahnost prodigal gen- 
erosity, some of which have been mentioned in other chapters. In all 
cases he seemed never to think of himself in comparison with others. He 
had contributed largely to the building of the new town hall, when, think- 
ing that still larger accommodations would be needed, he added the rear 
gallery entirely at his own expense. His acts of generosity sometimes 
took an original torm, as when, on several occasions, he obtained permis- 
sion to plow, fertilize, and sow a worn-out meadow owned by a widow 




or man too poor to cultivate it, afterward taking great satisfaction in the 
sight of the new crop of fresh green heritage which he had produced. He 
once also gave a considerable sum of mone\' to an Irishman for the pur- 
pose of adding a cornice to a humble and unsightly dwelling that had been 
built on the public road and greatly annoyed Mr. Gunn's aesthetic sense; 
and when a laboring woman, white-washing a wall, splashed on the floor, 
and attributed it to a bad Iirush, Mr. Gunn handed her a two-dollar bill for 
a new one, "just to make it right." 

A poor townsman, in whom Mr. Gunn had no reason to interest him- 
self had been convicted of theft and imprisoned. On the very day of his 
return from jail Mr. Gunn sent for him, received him in a friendly way, 
and engaged him to go to work for him at once. 

He felt the same interest in the improvement of the towns-people as 
in that of his pupils, thougli the needs of the two were, in general, very 
different. The delicately-nurtured boy from the city was made to join in 
active sports and lead a hardy, out-door life to teach him manliness, forti- 



54 



THE MASTER OF -THE GUXXERY." 



tude, and st-lf- reliance. The natives of Washington had less need of such 
trainino'. Like Mr. (nmn himself, they all had more or less experience of 
" rock-ribbeel soil antl \vintr\ blasts." They retjiiired most the warm sun- 
shine of trenial, humanizing intercourse, social amenities, the refining influ- 
ences of books, lectures, and dramatic entertainment.s ; and it was to these 
objects that the efforts of Mr. (iunn were chiefly directed. 

When the Gunner\- School was established in the modest little cottage, 
it gave the master and mistress a home ot their own and an opportunity 
to carry into effect a long-cherished plan for bringing the people of Wash- 
ington into better social relations with one another. Mr. Gunn believed 
that the greatest need of a rural communit\- was a freer commingling of 
its members, a relaxation ot the grim, hall-isolated existence that had 
characterized Puritan Xew Englantl. He wished that the young people 
especiallv should be provided with inneicent amusements. In the eyes of 
the older generation, card-playing and dancing were l)orn of the devil; 
but he saw that such diversions were harndess in themselves and could 
easily be made useful factors of social life. Vov this reason he not only 
tolerated, but in a temperate way encouraged them. 

The mother of two of his boys who had been kept from card-playing 
was rather shocked, on visiting Washington shortly after sending them to 
the (}unnerv. to find tlu' youngsters dee]) in the masteries ot " Kverlast- 
ing," or some ecjually simple game, and asked Mr. (iunn it he really 
thought it wise ior boys to be trusted with cards. He said: "Well, you 
ma)- i)e ijrett\- sure the\' will learn to pla\ cards some time and some 
where. The onl\- ([uestion, aside from the harmlessness of the amuse- 
UK'nt, is whether it is not better for them to do so openly and at home." 
The boys were permitted to |jla\' cards at home from that day. 

As a means of liringing together the school and the towns-people, old 
and young, he established the Friday evening recejjtions at the Gunnery. 
"Reception" is rather a formal word to give to those happ\- gatherings 
which had nothing formal or regular about them, except the lime at which 
they were held ; for the\ have been of regular weekly recurrence from 
the beginning, or with scarceh' an inter\-al in school-time or vacation. 
Thev will remain in tlu: minds of Gunner\' scholars as long as the mem- 
or\' can recdl a single scene of school-days. And no one can doulit the 
good effect of the receptions in l)righlcning, rct'ming, and impro\ ing the 
social life of the little \illage'. 

Mr. Gunn was naturall\ consulti:d about e\'er)- (piestion that arose, and 
he had thus man\' opp,)rlunities for working gootl results, in a (|uiet way, 
b\' frien;ll\- talks with thr neighbors who c.uik; to see him in his little sit- 



MR. GUXN AS THE CITIZEN. 








ting-room. He had an intuitive perception of the needs of those aljout 
him, and he encouraged them in everything that could he made to work 
tor their benefit. Boys especially he encouraged to have opinions ot their 
own, and not to drift with the current of hearsay. F",very form of idle 
gossip he discouraged in the strongest possible way, giving no credence 
whatever to a rumor that was not supported by i)roofs. and utterly dis- 
missing it from his mind, but not until he had first visitetl the informer 
with a sound moral lecture. But even from this his humor often took 
away the sting, as it so frequently did from his punishment of boys. This 
keen sense of the ridiculous was apt to be uppermost in his mind at all 
times and made him good comi^anv for every one. This was the one 
trait of his character that appealed to all, and that old and ) oung alike 
could appreciate; it kept alive the spirit of youth in his heart, and remained 
still bright even in the last hours of his illness. 

He was always quick to see when anything could be turned to account 
in a useful way. As one instance of this may be mentioned his choice 
of such pla)s as "Uncle Tom's Cabin" and "Neighbor [ackwood," to 
be performed in the School Exhiljition at the close ot each term. He saw 
in them a means of bringing vividl\- betore his local audience the evils of 
slavery, and of extinguishing the last remnant of pro-slavery sentiment 
that still lingered in the community. The performance that might otherwise 
have been simply an exercise tor the dunnt'ry scholars was thus rendered 
undoubtedly effective in appealing, through its realistic representation, to 
minds which could not have been reached l)y direct argument. 

Soon after the founding of the school Mr. Gunn became the prime 
mover in another enterprise which had more especial reference to the 
impr(jvement of older people — naineb', the village lil)rar_\-. If not the 
actual originator of this institution, he look so active a part in planning it 
that his election as its first president followed as a matter of course ; and 



56 



THE MASTER OF ^^T/IE GUNNERY. 



tliL- odtl manner of circulating the volumes, if not suggested 1)\- him, is cer- 
tainly characteristic of his methods. ( )n a certain day of each month all 
the books were separateh' sold oft at auction to the highest bidder, who 
accjuired simply the privilege of keeping his purchase until the next auc- 
tion day, the proceeds of the sale being devoted to increasing the library. 
The president was c.x officio auctioneer, and the pioneer meml)ers of the 
association can still recall the excitement that attended those earlier sales 
under the stimulus of keen and humorous comment upon the titles and 
contents of his wares by the auctioneer, who knew them well and was so 
successful that in several cases, it is said, as much as the entire price of a 
coveted new book was paid merely to secure to the buyer the first reading 
of it. The Gunnery bo\s were permitted to bid for l)Ooks, and one of 
them learned his first lesson on the importance ot knowing what he was 
buying when he bid in a book called "Dunn Brown Abroad." " \'ou 
don't want that, Johnn\'," said Mr. Gunn, after he had knocked tlown the 
book to the persistent bidder — and |ohnn\- lound that he tlidn't want it. 
He was only ten years old, and thought he was securing further informa- 
tion about his favorite hero — a sort of sequel to "Tom Brown at Rugby." 

The founding of the library was followed by that of the Judea Lyceum, 
which was organized by Mr. Gunn, and without his active assistance would 
have been no more than the ordinary village debating society. He pre- 
sided at the earlier meetings, introduced questions of political and social 
import as subjects of debate, and especially encouraged the discussion of 
current topics of the day. He taught the members to closely observe 
parliamentary rules, and gave them elocutionary drill and instruction, all 
of which he was aijuntlantl\- (pialified to do. Under his direction 
the society became, far more than the average of its kind, a useful 
factor in developing the minds of its members, some ot whom became 
distinguished in after-life; antl one, now sitting in the United States 
Senate, gratefully recalls the discipline gained in those unrecorded de- 
Ijates on the rustic floor of the Judea Lyceum. 

The Dramatic Association was an imjiortant outgrowth of the school 
exhibition. As the school grew in fa\or, parents and relatives of scholars 
from surrounding towns attended the performance of plays, older people 
took parts in the cast, and this naturally led to the organization of a 
society for theatricals. It was expected tlial thi: character of the perform- 
ance would warrant a charge for admission, but it was first of all unani- 
m(.)usly rrsoUcd 1)\- the association that all the receipts should be applied 
to some form of public benefit. The first play selected was Sheridan's 
"Rivals," which was given March lo, 1870, in the then newly completed 



MR. GUXX AS THE C/T//EN. 



57 



Farmers' Hall, whicli was a'iorncd with pictures and plaster casts from the 
proceeds ot tJTe entertainment. Other performances soon realized the 
sum ot two hundred and titty dollars, which was used in l)uilding a gen- 
erous bay-window to the parsonage — an application of the money which 
Mr. Gunn had facetiously suggested as an effective means of setting at rest 
the minister's doubts concerning the propriety of theatricals. The Dra- 
matic Association has survived its founder, and is still as flourishing as 
when he directed its aftairs. It has realized more than three thousand 
dollars as its total receipts, all of the money having been used for the 
improvement of the village in ways suggested by Mr. Gunn, and during 
his life-time under his direction. But the greater benefit which Washing- 
ton derived from the "Dramatics" was in the improved social relations 
of its people, who were brought together at the Green from miles aroimd 
for an evening ot rational enjoyment such as would otherwise be unknown 




Mlil-lllll. NK\II lllli GUNNEUY. 



to them. Ne.Kt to the Gunnery receptions, the Dramatic Association 
has contributed more than anything else in Washington to dissipate 
that narrow, out-of-the-world feeling, which is characteristic of small rural 
communities. 

Ihe financial success of these entertainments encouraged Mr. Gunn to 
plan for a town course of lectures by noted men. A committee was 
authorized to make engagements with some of the most distinguished 
lecturers in the country, who, of course, received their regular price.s, and, 
though the little village of less than thirty families could not of itself 
have provided a paying audience, the enterprise as a whole was made 
profitable through the attendance from the surrounding country. The 
chances of loss, however, were apparently so great that they would prob- 
ably never have been taken but for the earnest desire of the teacher and 
his untiring e.xertions to secure the means of intellectual culture for his 
towns-people. Yet so quieth" and unobtrusively was his work done that 



ss 



THE MASTER OE -THE GUXXERVr 



few were ever aware of the important part he |)hi_\e(_l in Itriiii^in^ a large 
number of famous men to lecture in Washington. 

The instances citetl are enough to show the traits which made Mr. 
Gunn the first citizen ol the place, in whose strong personality a 
steady stream of charit\-, civic \irtue, and progressive impulse had its 
bounteous spring. .Ardent, pul)lic-s[)irited, and learlessl)' fair, the stimu- 
lating figure of Mr. dunn as the good citizen is scarcely overshadowed by 
that of the instructor. 

For all the good he did, Mr. (iunn was far from being a professed 
reformer. He had none of the zeal or self-conscious devotion to a cause 
which belon<'"s to such a character. In fact, men usuallv classed as reformers 




THE KO.XliURV Ri>AD. 



would not have understootl him. His motives were simply a healthy 
human interest in all phases of life, and an earnest desire to bt-nefit those 
about him. He won sooner or later the esteem of all who had at first 
condemned him, and the sincerity of his motives was never doubted; yet 
he was so spontaneous, so little given to using conventional forms and 
[jhrases, that many failed to appreciate the serious side of his nature. 
This was pai'tl\- due, no doubt, to his \'er\' ch;u'acteristic attitude toward 
the chui'ch. He had \-igorousl\- opposed the pro-sla\er_\' sermons of the 




_Li i.A.ND-MAKh 



Rev. Mr. Hayes, but with all succeeding ministers personally he stood 
on the best of terms, giving- them aid by substantial acts of kindness, 
seconding their eftorts, and proving himself in many trials a warm and 
steadfast friend. No one who thoroughly knew him could doubt, and his 
letters abundantly show, his rare elevation of character, spiritually no less 
than morally. But it was v.-ell known that he had never become a member of 
the church. L'.nalty to his conscience did not permit him to subscribe to 
certain theological dogmas which his mind rejected, Init which were 
regarded by the church as essential ; so that in the strict, conventional 
sense of the term he was not a religious man. \'et in all practical Chris- 
tian works, and in everything that concerned the welfare of the church, 
he took so active a part that it has been aptly said that, though he 
could not be regarded as a pillar of the church upholding it on the inside, 
he was like a strong buttress supporting it from without. 

When all this has been said, there remains a sense of the inadequacy 
of any mere summary of facts to portra\- the influence of such a man upon 
the community in which he lived. The subtle, unconscious impress of a 
noble personalit)- that was felt b_\- all, the manliness of character that 
showed itself often in the commonest acts, the example ot a lite tree from 
sordid, selfish aims, can none o\' them be measured by tangible results. The 



6o THE MASTER OF -THE GUNNERY." 

more deep and far-reachiny consequences ot Mr. ( lunn's lik- have been and 
are yet to be realized in the lives of those made better by his presence ; 
and no one can doubt that the town has shared with the school in reaping 
the truit of his unselfish labor. Indeed, the memur\- ot school and 
town is closel)- blended in the thoughts of the old Gunnery Idovs who 
revisit the place, — some to make summer homes for themselves near to 
the spot where their happiest years were passed, and amid scenes that 
recall their walks and converse with the beloved teacher who is with them 
no longer. And thus, [lerchance, even to the most material appreciation, 
the destinies of the simple village of Washington have been changed 
unconsciously by him who now lies at rest in the grave on the hill-side 
near the scene of his lite's labor. 




.:HUK(11 nil. I. I'lAIKAU. 



IV 



Mk. GUNN AS THE ScHOOI.-MASTER 



", P one may speak in a vein of paradox, the 
ladical idea of Mr. Giinn's system of school 
y'overnment was to have as Httle o-overnment 
<is possible ; or, more fitly, it mav be called a 
scheme of self-control rooted in the personal 
conscience of the boy, and least felt because 
least exerted. A school, in Mr. Gunn's theory 
and largely in his practice, was a mimic 
republic, the head of which ruled by a kind 
of delegated power, only to be exercised 
within the limits of the common good. The 
t more memory reverts to the administration 
VC of the Gunnery, the more palpable and clear 
_^\^ / ^^ . V becomes this conception of the teacher. All his 
'"p -^V i/T analogies were drawn ideally from the composi- 





l*.?J(/^ 



tion and functions of a well-ordered State. The 
^ 'icluilars were to him embryo citizens, interested in 

""'■^' tin wtal of the school community, and each charged, 

"'' IS an mdividual, with the duty of conserving it. 

Mutual confidence was the common ground on which 
met master and pupil, the ruler and the ruled. No man more willingly than 
Mr. Gunn, however, conceded the imperfections and difficulties of the plan. 
When the best political system shaped by the ballots and laws of mature 
men falls far short of Utopia, few could argue perfection in self-govern- 
ment by boys. Nevertheless, the scheme was chosen deliberately by the 
master; through all his long career as an instructor he clung to it tena- 
ciously as the best working theory for a school ; all his keen and saga- 
cious insiofht into the character ot bovs and his utmost resources as a 



52 THE MASTER OF -THE GCXNERY." 

teacher were drawn upon to carr\- throuyh that theor)' ; and tlie final suc- 
cess that crowned his work and made tanious the Ciunnerx and its head 
amply vindicated his judgment. 

Two special influences, however, were potent in promoting the success 
of the Gunnery experiment. One was the rare genius of its projector, 
and that unerring instinct which guided him in molding lor good ends the 
traits of bovs. A second and more accidental element was the happy 
chance that environed the school b)- a pjeculiarly exemplary community. 
Washington, as has been shown in previous chapters, did not escape the 
tempests, theological and political, that swept over New England during 
the first half of the centur\-. But at most these have been temporary epi- 
sodes, breezes which have ruffleil, not changed, the even current of social 
life in the town. ()ne may look far through New England before he finds 
a village made up of social ingredients so pure, so unaftected, and so sweet, 
as were united on that bucolic hill-top. It was a sort of benign commune in 
its even division of property, its social e(|ualities, its harmon)- of interests. 
Neighbors ran in and out at will through one another's doors without the 
formality of knocking ; no factor)- classes were there to debase the tone 
of public morals ; crime and vice were well-nigh unknown, or came as 
startling phenomena that shocked the village to its depths ; for years 
betore the coming of the railroatl no citi/en locked his doors at night; 
while prohil)ition of li(|uor-selling was alwa\s enforcetl with a rigidity 
almost fierce. .\dd to these local traits |)ublic sjiirit, hosj)italit)', general 
education, and a wideK' diffused intelligence, and it w ill l)e seen how well 
the place was adapted tor a training school ior boys. No narrow code 
of pedagogical rules or rigid liounds were ncetlcd to enforce discipline, 
for the GLuinery lad, go where he would, encountered onl\- sweetness and 
sound morals. Of ecjual moment as Ijearing on the t)utcome of the 
(iunnery plan was the keen sympath)- and interest between the village 
and the school. P^ach seemed to live for the common gooil of both, and 
each rcjflected on the other the mutual good-will. Town l)o\s and 
(iunnery boys fraternizetl on even terms, and so identified were the sclural 
and village that one hardly knew where the one ended and the other 
began. The active interest of the teacher in all town affairs, the attend- 
ance of day scholars of both sexes, the Ijall games, ami the annual school 
exhibitions, all tendctl to per|)etuate and solidif\- the union. In all the 
forces which wrought for the (iimnery its statiu'e and its growth, this 
environment of a temperate, wholesome, and harmonious commimit)' must 
be coiuited the first. 

Throughout his scheme of disci[jline Mr. (iunn always set the mere 




Cofiyrighl, l»l 
lAMII-IAK OUTLINES. 



trainin^r ot the intellect in a remote second place. 
His central objects were manhood, moral courage, 
physique, and that grandest of human traits ex- 
pressed by the word characlcr. Without these he 
conceived that the bo)'s maturer life would be like a 
house set on a flimsy base, eas)- to be wrecked at the 
first blast of the world's temptations. He used often to call bookish 
learning an affectation, and the pursuit of it a loss of time, both for teacher 
and pupil, unless the boy had enduring and mantul traits. In ever_\' esti- 
mate of the (Junnery system of education this supreme aim of the teacher 
must be kept in view. It explains a laxity of rules, which under other 



64 



THE MASTER OE'-THE GUXNERYr 



local conditions mii^dit have been fatal to the order ot a school : it L,nves a 
clew to methods that at first glance seem pedantic and whimsical; and it sheds 
most luminous lig'ht on the subtle inner spirit of the school-life, on the deep 
and lastint^r aftections, and on the tender memories which shine backward on 
the old days, wherever now in the big world a Gunner)- boy makes his home. 

The teacher passed away in the fullness ot his fame and usefulness; but 
he lived long enough to hear those whom he taught as lads sanction his 
s\stem with their matured judgment as men ; to find them b\- word and 
example testifying to the benign influence of his training; to see that 
every school reunion brought them flocking back for a brief but happy 
holiday; to know that wherever his l:)oys had scattered they nurtured 
loving memories of scenes that the ordinar)- grown-up school-boy too often 
recalls with cynicism or hate. And when the old teacher finally slept, the 
tearful throng of old boys who gathered from far and near to bear him to 
his grave bore solemn witness to the mighty influence of his life and work. 
When one compares with that strenuous and ennobling career of the 
teacher-parent the lives of hundreds ot men whom the world deems good 
instructors ; men who may make boys learn but cannot make them love; 
who treat boys as young imps to be thwarted and harassed by cruel 
devices; who reveal in their own daily conduct a hundred petty mean- 
nesses; and v,dio are finally remembered by their old pupils only with con- 
tempt — when the contrast is made between qualities like these and those 
of the head ot the (iunnerw one realizes how far removed trom the dismal 
routine of the pedagogue is the otTtice of the true and earnest instructor. 

On the eastern slope of the Washington Green stood the little, square, 
drab-hued building in which Mr. Gunn tor many years taught his boys. 
It was a plain, un|)retentious structure with its rough entry, its lower story 
used for the school, and its upper room, where town meetings, an occasional 
petty trial before a justice of the peace, and now and then a local enter- 
tainment, used to be held. Enter once again, in memory, that school-room, 
now disused after the lapse of years ! It is neat and tidy, with well-swept 
floors, freshly-painted desks, and seats worn smooth by man\' a generation 
of boys. Its walls are prettily [japered, and engravings hung at intervals 
redeem it from all likeness to the old-fashioned countrx' schofil-room, with 
its dismal antl colorU'ss monoton)'. IJehind the desks are ihirty Ixiys and 
a dozen girls. I he boys range trom the farmer's lad with his misshapen 
sack-coat, blunt, angular boots, and sunbrown face, to the newest arrival 
trom the citw with lily cheeks ami the tailor's superlati\e triumj>h in his 
garl). In tront sits the teachc'r, a man six feet high, of mighty thews, with 
the head of a .Scandinavian \'ikin''' and the frame of a <dadiator, l)ut 



MR. GUNN AS THE SCHOOL-MASTER. 65 

with a sly twinkle of the eye and a mobile face that breaks easily into a 
sunny smile. A slender, carefully-whittled hickory-rod — his "cudgel," 
Mr. Gunn used to call it — rests loosely in his hand. On a cushioned 
chair near by a young greyhound is sleeping, and another dog of smaller 
size rests, nose on paw, upon his master's knees. The open windows 
flood the school-room with sunlight and fragrant air. Outside, the maples 
are quivering in the breeze, and the sharp twitter of a bird or the rasping 
note of the locust cuts the hot stillness of the day. Glancing out of the 
window you may see dispersed on a rocky ledge, or under the shadowy 
maples, half a dozen boys of trusted scholarship conning their books. The 
school is quiet and orderly. If a boy is detected idling, the quick eye of 
the teacher marks him down, and some keen shaft of pleasantry draws 



mi^si. 




KIRBY CORNKRS. 



the attention of the school to the offender, and turns him back blushing to 
his task ; or, should he be caught again, he is perhaps sent out of doors 
to hug a tree for an hour, or pulverize a brick tor a like period. Some- 
times the big heart of the teacher swerved from penalty to pity. A steady 
boy of twelve or thirteen years perchance nodded in the heat over his 
book. Often then Mr. Gunn would signal him gently with his forefinger, 
and climbing into the master's lap the youngster would sleep peacefully 
while the teacher heard recitation, and the pet dog, driven from its warm 
perch, sulked jealously to the door. Very rarely — not more than half a 
dozen times a year — and only in extreme cases, was the rod used; but 
when it fell it came down with a vigor and emphasis that passes verbal 
metaphor ; nor did the boy, big or litde, ever live that for an instant dared 
confront that Hercules in strength and omnipotent Jove in angry looks. 
As well defy the lightning or with puny fists beat Ixick the onset of a 



66 THE MASTER OF -THE GUKNERYr 

locomotive. The annals of the school record only one case of even verbal 
defiance. "You haven't the pluck, sir, to say boo to a goose," cried the 
master once to a listless but high-spirited pupil. "Moo!" shouted the 
angry lad, looking Mr. (amn straight in the e)e. I*"or an instant the 
master's face flushed with anger, Init a titter of the school reminded him 
of the hit, and he joined his boys in a hearty round of laughter. A good 
joke or quick sally even at his own e.xpense was the master's weakest 
point, and man\- the treml)ling cul])rit who by some fortuitously odd reply 
softened the teacher's anger and mitigated penalty. 

The school exercises were devoid of all religious observance except the 
reading of a chapter of the Bible, verse by verse, in rotation at the opening of 
the morning session; and even this was dropped in later years, when the Bible 
in Public .Schools became a semi-political ([uestion, appealing to Mr. Ciunn's 
acute sense of religious liberty. As to the a\erage oi scholarshijj, it was 
unquestionably low. The boys, as a rule, studied in a rather desultory 
and aimless fashion. There was no incentive of graded marks, and there 
was slight punishment even for repeated remissness at lessens. But the 
l)oys were mostly young, and oi the older ones tew were making definite 
plans for college. From fitting l)oys for the higher education the master 
habitually shrank. He detested the narrow drill and super-refined cun- 
ning by which boys were crammed like wadded cannon with knowledge 
to be shot off once at an examination. His method of teaching the dead 
languages was original and characteristic. " If a bo\- can once read the 
text fluentl)- and correctlv, " he used to say, " the syntax will come of itself" 
.So a boy fouml himself reciting two hundred lines of \'irgil a day, or 
half as much Homer, long before he knew the jargon of oratio obliqiia 
or potential optatives. It went liard at first with those lads when later 
on they faced the iron drill of the collegiate schools. Nevertheless their 
(|uick ficilitv in graceful translation eased tlieir way, and a few months 
usualK' found tliem abreast or ahead of their mates. With scarcely an 
exception they afterward took good places in college, and were grad- 
uated with many honors. Teaching decimals and the proper place of the 
decimal point in a row of figures were two of the master's s|)ecial hob- 
bies. " l'Aer_\- boy. ' he used to sa\', "has a decimal [xiint in his life, and 
when the crisis comes has got to know where to [jut it." 

In the teaching of the English literary branches Mr. Gunn was strict 
;ind unflinching. Reading aloud was taught to the whole school for an 
hour each (la\', the text-l)Ook l)eing usuallv either a .Shaksperean reader 
or a poem of Sir W'altt-r .Scott, parts of which the school would recite in 
unison. Pure inflection, correct accent, and smooth rhvthm were insisted 



MR. GUNN AS THE SCI/0 OL- MA S TE R . 



67 



on as rio-orously as in a scliool of the drama. The scholars grew so 
famih'ar with the " Lady of the Lake" and " Marmion " that they could 
recite from them for half an hour without a break in the loud and musical 
chorus. Sometimes, when the school was assembled for the reading 
exercise, and as Mr. Gunn began to ascend the flight of stairs to the 
school-room, he would repeat a line, perhaps 

" l-"ar up the Icnijtliening lake were spied 
Four darkening specks upon the tide," 




\ RESORT FO 



and instantl)- the roomful of voices joined in with his, aiul "amain they 
plied the ancient Highland strain," till he had reachetl his platform and 
his arm-chair, and 

" E\-er, as nii they bore, more loud 
Aiul louder rung the pibroch proud." 

Each I'riday alternoon was given up to declamation and composition, 
which the teacher, himself a capital speaker and writer, criticised merci- 
lessly. 

At the close of the winter term, for two weeks all regular stud\- gave 
way to preparation for the yearly exhibition of the school, lasting for three 
nights with its programme of songs, plays, and declamations, humorous 



68 THE MASTER OF "THE GUNNERY.'' 

and somber. The performances were given in the upper story of the 
'• Seminary," so called after its change from an old Methodist chapel ; 
and by reason of the faithful training of Mr. Gunn the dramatic entertain- 
ments produced were often of a very high order of merit. These exhibi- 
tions were great events in the yearly annals of the little town, and finally 
became so famous that people from neighboring villages came long dis- 
tances over the muddy, spring roads to crowd in under the curved rafters of 
the smoke-stained ceiling, and witness the plays ; nor ever, particularly 
during tlie abolition struggle, did the master fail to point a political moral 
l)y dramas like " Uncle Tom's Cabin " or " Dred," besides a plentiful admix- 
ture in the shorter pieces of antislavery prose and verse. An incident that 
occurred at one of these entertainments hits off at a stroke the humorous sus- 
ceptil)ility of the man. Among the members of the school was a Yankee lad, 
whom we may effectually disguise under the surname of Brown. This boy 
was a singular and amusing character. Physically, though almost six feet 
high, he was so gaunt and elongated that he was dubbed by the school 
nickname of " Bones." One of the brightest lads in the school, he was 
also a perfect apostle of mischief, in and out of scrapes from morn till night. 
What was more original was his coolness, which no crisis could disturb, 
and a readiness of repartee which rose to every emergency. On that 
particular exhibition night the leading piece was a dramatic version 
of ISulwer's " Last Days of Pompeii," a play abounding in melo- 
dramatic effects and an effulgence of red fire. The powder imported 
from New-York which produced the lurid stage-fires of those days also 
emitted a terribly pungent smoke, and to carry off the vapor Mr. Gunn 
had invented a Hue. connecting with a stove-pipe which led through a 
windtnv behind the stage. At rehearsals the contrivance had worked 
admira!)l)'; but on the night ot the play, owing to a change of weather, the 
flue prov(.;cl a radical failure, so that every atom of smoke drifted out in a 
thick cloud upon the autlience, throwing them into paroxysms of coughing. 
Presently the coughing subsided, when Brown, seeing the fun relax, began 
a volley of ear-rending "hawks." The sharp eye of Mr. Gunn lighted on 
the focal [)oinl of this new spasm. Presently the curtain at the wings 
opened, and the stern face of the master appeared as with ominous fore- 
finger he summoned Brown behind the scenes. Suddenlv the main curtain 
rose, h.nter Mr. Gunn leading the attenuateil ISrown by the ear. 

" i'his, ladies and gentlemen," said the master, "is Mr. William 
Bi'own, who has just l)een disturbing oiu' exhibition so outrageously." 

lircnvn never flinched. Eyeing the crowded assembly with a patroniz- 
ing air, he bowed gracefully through sonie ninety degrees of arc and 



MR. GUNN AS THE SC HO O L- MA STE R. 



69 



responded: "Good-evening, ladies and gentlemen. I'm exceedingly 
happy to meet )ou." 

For a moment the master's eye flashed fire. He threw one annihilat- 
ing look at the cool offender, while the audience, catching the fun of the 
situation, burst into laughter, in which Mr. Gunn joined heartily as he rang 
the curtain down. 

Brown, with his immense fertility as a mischief-maker, was so pictur- 
esque a figure in the activities of the Gunner)- that he must not be dis- 
missed without reference to another of his characteristic tricks. He and 

,^ - ■ - - 




-* -si 



s 



\ U M I IM I I \l I 



the writer were chums in one of the upper chambers of the present 
" Hexie," in those days christened the "Wash-house" from the weekly 
use of the basement as a purgatory for the famih' linen. One of the 
closet doors of our room was a capital butt for the paper target of a 
parlor-pistol, and ere long a circumference as large as a hat-rim looked 
like the apex of a pepper-caster. Then Brown, who in his manifold 
resources was a sort of school-boy Ulysses, set his wits to work to cover 
up the betraying bullet-holes. Ere long he devised a code of highly 
moral regulations for the government of the boys rooming in the wash- 
house. These he handsomely engrossed on a large sheet of white paper 



-Q THE MASTER OE '-THE GUXXERV:' 

and pasted over the perforated space. Brown's triumph was complete 
when Mr. Gunn on one of his nightly roimds at bed-time read the rules 
over and specially commended one clause that forbade all practice with 
parlor-pistols, which just at that time had become a perilous nuisance. In 
the household renovations, during' the next vacation, Mr. Gunn must have 
discovered the holes, for we found the mask removed and the shot-marks 
filled with initt\- and repainted. But the master made no allusion to the 
offense, and we inferred that, as usual, a good joke had pulled us through. 

.\ more striking example illustrates one phase of the peculiar dis- 
cipline of the Gunnery. In the society of the quaint village pretty girls 
were uncommon, and a lively tlirill ot sentiment vibrated through the 
breasts of the older boys when a ruddy Western belle of a decided type 
of beauty visited a family in the town. The new-comer was, ot course, 
in great demand as a partner at the village gatherings, and became the 
spring of heart-burnings without number which it is no part of these 
pages to record. Two of the older boys, however, were untluly smitten, 
and their rivalry for the charmer's favor culminated in acute jealousy 
which their perverse mates fanned to flame. It was decided finall\- that 
nothing less than a pugilistic meeting could balm the wounded honor of 
the love-sick foes. A rough code modeled on the rules of the prize-ring 
was drawn up, and the two stalwart striplings met in a secluded glade of 
the grove behind the (iunnery. The next morning the vanquished 
appeared at lireakfast a woful spectacle, wearing the red marks of the 
fray. Mr. Gunn quietly learned the details but never uttered a word. 
He recognized in the resort to force by big boys an arbiter from whose 
decisions there was no aijpeal ; ami, in fact, after the momentary flutter 
of excitement caused by the fight, the whole affair was forgotten, and the 
antagonists ere long, with the departure of the fair object, became good 
friends. 

So, in another case, where Mr. Gunn overheard a stead)' bo\- and good 
scholar cursing his room-mate roundly, the master listened until he learned 
the extreme pro\ocation, then stole cjuietly away, and a gentle though 
earnest admonition a few da\s after was all that followed. A final 
instance even more impressively illustrates the teacher's non-interference 
theory in the case of big boys and his subtle recognition of what few 
instructors would deem their rights. A famous game of base-ball had 
been played at Litchfield Ix'tween the Gunner)' nine and a team chosen 
from Litchfield residents and [ticked players from Dr. Richard's school in 
that town. As usual, the Ciunnery club won an easy victory. The Litch- 
field team, though worsted at base-ball, contained two precocious young 



MR. GUNN AS THE SC HOO L- M A STER 

billiard-players, and, nettled by defeat, they challenged the two best hand- 
lers of the cue in the Washington nine to a match of three hundred points 
on the only table that Litchfield then boasted — a half-sized affair with bat- 
tered cushions, scarred and plastered cloth, and six pockets, each as big as 
a two-quart measure. Every one familiar with the game of billiards knows 




gj* 





Co( jrgln. IBSO, by HMrjnir A Brother, 



PRNITENTIAL MEMORIES. 



its inherent perversities and how the most desperate chances, aided by the 
nervousness of rivals and a little good luck, often prevail over superior 
skill. This was precisely the event in that famous match. Never did 
balls roll more viciously for Litchfield's unnerved representatives or 



72 



THE MASTER OE ^^THE GUNNERY. 



better tlian for the much-scratching pair of tyros from the Gunnery. [ust 
as the strug-glc was at fever-heat the door-way darkened and the ominous 
hgure of Mr. Gunn entered the room. The air was hazy witli the ricli 
gloom of tobacco smoke — which nobody detested more than Mr. Gunn — 
and a well-stocked bar reared its hated outlines in plain sight. PIvery 
Washington hul with a cigar dropped it, paled with the crisis, and expected 
nothing less than to be tumbled, neck and heels, out of doors. But the 
master quickly withdrew without uttering a syllable. Those who know 
aver that he never referred to the intrusion again beyond a gratified 
chuckle when he heard of the result of the game. 

The instances cited, in which Mr. Gunn winked at serious technical 
violation of the school-rules, were very rare, however, and affected only 
the older scholars. The rush of generous impulse seemed for the moment 
to make the master a veritable boy again, sweeping down the barriers of 
age, and conquering all scruples of authority. They were touches of 
humanity that revealed the young heart always palpitating in the bosom 
of the grown man. But usually in misdemeanors of the kind, and par- 
ticularly to any offense that smacked of meanness, Mr. Gunn was 
unbending. A lie was his peculiar abomination, to be visited by the 
severest punishment, and reckoned well-nigh unpardonable in a big boy. 
Drinking and smoking ranked next to falsehood in his hatred. Once or 
twice he found that an epidemic of smoking had crept insidiously into the 
school. He gave each offender an active emetic, and sent him to bed for 
a whole day. The use of filthy or profane words usually entailed the 
same drastic remedy. But the fiercest bursts of the master's anger and 
his harshest penalties visited any form of intemperance. A boy who on a 
day's trip to Waramaug Lake or to New Milford even entered a gi'Og- 
shoj) (Mr. Gunn never used any other term for a place where liquors were 
sold), lost the master's confidence completely, and for repeated transgres- 
sion might expect expulsion. By moral suasion, by personal example, by 
every illustration of the vice that he could fancy, he impressed on his boys 
the woes of drunkenness, their duties as total abstainers, and the deadly 
perils tliat lurked in the slightest indulgence. 

This stead)- inculcation of temperance was Init one offshoot of his sys- 
tem of direct instruction as to the duties of citizenship. In his school-talks 
his most vivid metaphors were those drawn from the relation of the citizen 
voter to his community and State. Every afternoon toward the close of 
the school sc'ssion, when the lumbering stage-coach brought the daily news- 
paper, the sheet was read for half an hour to the lio^-s, with a running fire 
of crisp comments, each conveying some earnest hint as to public duty ; and 




all this civic instruction was emphasized by the master's own personal and 
strenuous part in every town enterprise from the buildiny of a new rail- 
road down to a petty caucus of his political party. He ignored office, yet 
that very fact seemed to stimulate his sense of civic responsibility. 
Once he accepted, more by way of fun than anything else, the humble 
office of hay ward, an unpopular Yankee functionary charged with the duty 
of impounding stray cattle. Mr. Gunn often used to pull out his com- 
mission and read it with jocular glee ; but vagrant cattle nevertheless 
always went into limbo, save in one case, where he himself paid a poor 
man's pound fee. As school visitor he once had a written report to make 
to a town meeting. The report had for years been deemed a mere for- 
mality, but when the assembled freemen treated Mr. Gunn's as such he 
stopped reading abruptly and refused to proceed unless the)' cared to 
listen. Four of his boys once bought liquor at a grog-shop in New 
Preston. He summoned the seller promptly before a justice, assumed 
himself the office of prosecutor, forced his boys to testify, made a ringing 
appeal for temperance, and got the offender roundly fined. 

A whole chapter of this volume might fitly be given u[) to a narrative 

lO 



74 



THE MASTER OE '-THE GUNNERY: 



of tlic (grotesque ])unishments which Mr. (nmn \isitcd on [iftt\- offenses 
in his school and faniil)-. A boy ol uncommon diffidence nii^ht he sent to 
call on some villat^e spinster or, worse yet for the Ijlushin^- youngster, on 
some comely village lass. A youth too boisterous would be dismissed lor 
a four-mile walk, ordered to hold a chip in his mouth for an hour, or to 
run a dozen times around the church on the Green, sounding the tin dinner- 
horn at each corner in rotation. Two small boys caught fighting were 
often ordered to sit, one in the other's lap, taking turns thus tor an hour 
or two. Pounding a log with a heavy club was a favorite panacea for 
superfluous energy in the family sitting-room. Once a mischievous 
youngster was seen sprinkling a dog's face with water at the tank behind 
the Gunnery. The master, who had a tender spot in his heart for 
animals, stole up behiml the offender and ducked him liberally, to give 
him, as he said afterward, an inkling of the feelings of the dog. At the 
Gunnery it used to be a custom to allow a boy to take the anniversary of 
his birth as a holiday, and a too clever lad was detected by Mr. Gunn 
celebrating thus his third birthday within a single year. The next genuine 
anniversary of the boy's birth came on a Saturda}', which the recusant 
celebrated by hugging a tree for several hours while his school-mates 
enjoyed the regular school holiday. A resident of Washington tells how, 
years ago, he found at the fork of two roads and hugging a sign-post in 
anything but sentimental fashion, a youth whose only reply to questions 
was, " I'm a poor miserable sinner," that lieing the formula of penance 
which the master had prescribed. \ dozen lads some twenty years ago 
were caught raiding the bow-apple trees of the neighbors. Mr. Gunn 
made them draw up a formal address of apology, bear it In procession to 
each of the amazed owners of the trees, read it on their knees, and pray 
forgiveness. A single truant once caught committing the same offense in 
the orchard of a poor widow was sent to work all day picking u]) stones 
in one of her fields. The most awkward youngster in the school, who 
had stepped for the second time on a young chicken with deadly con- 
sequences, had for twelve hours to wear the fowl hung to his neck as a 
locket. In the same way Mr. Gunn had before cured a cat-killing dog 
by hanging one of the dead animals around the brute's neck. One of the 
larger l)oys tormented a chum of inferior age by putting a chestnut-burr 
in his bed. The ne.xt morning he found the burr on his breakfast-plate 
and no other breakfast to be had. A boy who had stoned a cow was sent 
to deliver a penitential oration for half an hour to the whole herd in the 
barn-yard. When a very ^oung bo\' after repeatetl warnings ai)i)eared 
in school willi soiled face and hands he was sent down to the famih- 



MR. GUNN AS THE SCHOOL-MASTER. 



75 



washer-woman, with a quarter of a dollar in his pocket, with orders that she 
was to charge extra if she found the contract too large. Similarly, when 
tlie master once broke a new cane on a very bad offender, he entered a 
charge for it of fifty cents against the lad's father, who paid it cheerfully, 
and actually sent a letter to the master thanking him for having laid the 
rod so hard on the wayward son. 

Actual wickedness was severely punished by Mr. Gunn, sometimes in 
the good, old-fashioned way ; but his motive in inflicting for minor faults 
the odd penalties here alluded to seemed to be to take cognizance of the 
error in a manner that would sufficiently incon:mode the culprit without 
hurting his self-respect or leaving an angry smart. The boy appreciated 
the fact that "he stood corrected"; but he also appreciated the humorous 
side of the penalty. Those who revisited Washington after leaving 
school sought no familiar haunt with more interest than the shrines to 
which they had made penitential [jilgrimages under orders — Kirby Cor- 
ners, a gentle jog around the square ; the old saw-mill in the hollow, 
which, visited at night, was weird and ghostly enough to sober the 
wildest urchin ; Moody I5arn, as redolent of pleasant memories as of new- 
mown ha\- ; and, for more serious faults, distant Judd's Bridge. 

"Old White,"* Mr. Gunn's Gothic steed, in her later years onl)- kept 
alive ior Auld Lang Syne, and long ago gathered to her ecjuine fathers, 
used to be constantly preyed upon by the boys who drew hairs from her 
archaic tail for their rabbit snares, until a very palpable stump protruded. 
The embryo foresters when discovered in the proceeding were ordered to 
restore the hairs, which they did, after a temporary fashion, with mucilage 
and cobbler's wax. One day in school the boys seemed uncomiuonly 
listless. At last one of the laziest of all complained of being sick. " An\ 
boy who's sick, hold up his hand." More than half the lads " in fun " 
did so, but their fun ended abruptly when the master sent them down to 
Mrs. Gunn to receive each of them a strong medicinal dose of boneset-tea. 
School sickness was at a discount for several weeks after that. 

During the writer's stay at the school, Mr. Gunn took offense at the 
hal)it of manv lioys of carrying tjieir hands in their pantaloon pockets and 

* Old White for a long time ranked as one of the institutions of the Gunnery. Her anj;ularily 
was evidently organic, and beyond the cure of fodder. Mr. Hurlburt, years before the episode cited, 
had brought her from New Haven, her owner having offered her for twenty-five dollars, provided a 
kind master could be found. When Mr. Gunn called to sec her with a view to purchase, he eyed 
the quaint animal quizzically for a few moments. " Well," quoth he, " I'll take her if you say so. 
She's got a good tail." Her willingness to " go" as fast as her poor foundered legs would let her 
gave easy currency to the legend that she had been a great racer, and at least one generation of 
(lunnery boys graduated in the full belief that she was a retired Oueen of the Turf. 



76 



THE MASTER OF ^'THE GUNNERY." 



appointed a committee to sew up the pockets of oftenders; in less than a 
day half the pockets of the school were closed, including those of the com- 
mittee and of the teacher himself who cheerfully submitted to Ids own 
penalty. It came out m a family meeting that some of the little fellows 
had fallen so far into temj^tation as to smoke sweet fern, and this was 
the sentence passed upon them : each l)()y within a week had to gather 
twenty bushels of sweet fern, and lay it in a heap in the grove for Mr. 
Gunn's inspection. These boys were busy mortals ibr the next {nw days, 
and they afforded considerable amusement as they were seen trudging 
along the roads and bearing to the Gunnery big armfuls of that sturdy, 
fraorant New England weed. This little interview described by a friend 
was one of many as characteristic: Mr. Gunn was sitting on the piazza 
with a boy in his arms. A handkerchief tied closely around the boy's face 
drew my attention to him, and I asked him if he was suftering from 
toothache. " Oh, no," said Mr. Gunn, without waiting for a reply from 
the l)o\-; "his moutli is disabled: it has forgotten how to speak the 
truth. — to speak just what he thinks and knows, no more and no less." 

He insisted on neatness and order, and often a family meeting was 
called and made a court of inquiry over a bit of paper found on the lawn, 
or a peanut-shuck on the stairs. Once there was a question as to the 
history of several pieces of orange-peel in the grass in front ot the house. 
The forty boys were summoned and made to stand in a row on the long 
piazza. Mr. Gunn called upon each one to state what he knew about the 
orano-c-peel, and at the end of the investigation he formed the dozen or 
more culprits into file, the tallest at the head, and made them march in 
solemn procession about the yard until they had picked up all the offend- 
ino- scraps, and then to the pig-sty to deposit them in their proper place. 

One of the graduates of half a generation ago contributes a stor)' in all its 
phases so characteristic of the Gunnerylife as to justily its insertion here with- 
out essential change : " I wanted to wake up early in the morning to go trout 
fishing; having no alarm-clock, the notion of taking to my room one of the 
family roosters to crow at dawn was suggested to Mr. Gunn, who laughed 
at the plan and said he had no objection to my taking a rooster, cow, or 
any other barn-yard creature to bed with me if I chose. So I placed the 
big iSrahma cock on the back of a chair and went to sleep. It so 
happened that I occupied a skylight room, and when the moon rose about 
twelve that night the rooster thought it dawn, and sent forth his shrill 
clarion. The sound woke st-veral of the larger boys, who came in, and 
while one knocketl the bird under the bed, another gave me a s])anking. 
Ne.xt day when 1 rejiorted the facts to Mr. Gunn, the scene that followed 



MR. GUNX AS THE SCHOO L- MA STE R 



// 



was very amusing. He asked my age, which was eleven years, then the 
number of slaps I had received, which 1 reported to be thirteen. Then he 
addressed the school, telling all the boys who were eleven jears old to stand, 

and asked how man\' would like to give Tom \' , who often teased 

the smaller boys, thirteen good slaps on the particular spot where he had 
struck me. All were eager to get even with him. So at noon Tom was 
ordered to bend over the church-steps, and the boys were given permis- 
sion to choose their own weapons as the offender had chosen his. I was 




:p^; 



I RAMI'INO-GUOLM) 



made captain of the procession, and urged my subordinates to hit hard. 
From a few boys Tom got a spanking of ordinary degree with the bare 
hand or a shingle with a hole in it ; Init I recall two long-suffering boys 
who had taken from a near fence a chestnut-rail, which they proposed to 
use as a battering-ram on Tom's person. The idea was borrowed from 
Greek history and the siege of Troy !)y battering-rams. Mr. (Junn, 
however, interposed to thwart the e.xcess of justice, and the culj^rit was 
effectually punished without it." 

The master's system of penalties as illustrated by these examples may 
at first sight seem pedantic and more humorous than disciplinary. But 
the keen instinct of the teacher made them singularly effective. His quick 
e\-e took in the fiilings of a boy at a glance, and every one of his off-hand 
penances for peccadilloes were leveled unerringly at some flaw ol char- 
acter. Every institution of the school, even to the sports of the field, was 



78 



THE MASTER OE ^'THE GUNNERY y 



impressed into his punitive code. A bo\' sulky or efteminate would be 
ordered to go a-fishing, sent into the melee of a foot-ball game, or put on 
second base, in those days of lively balls the key position of a base-ball 
game. Man)- old boys of twenty years ago will recall an Ohio lad, fat, 
pulpy, and so incuralily homesick that during each daily cycle of his two 
years' sta\- he used to l)lot off the date from the almanac so as to comfort 
himself by some material emblem of the lapse of time. Mr. Gunn found 
him moping one day and sent him to second base. The players plied him 
with work, and for half an hour he stood there dodging balls, a pallid pict- 
ure of woe. At last there came to liim a hot line ball straight from the 
bat. Vox one fatal instcUit die \ictim lost his head until too late to elude 
the ball, which caught him fairly in the pit of his rounded stomach. With 
a yell of anguish he bowed over, the ball "stuck" in the fold of the body, 
and the striker was declared " out " amid shrieks of merriment. 

The discipline of the household centered most effectively in that origi- 
nal instituti(.)n called the " iamily meeting," which liegan some twenty 
years ago, the leading features of which will Ije described in a later chapter. 

During the civil war, under the sinir of the martial fervor of the 
times, the master ado|Jted drilling as a l)ranch of the school curriculum, 
muskets being supplied from the State armorw The drill-master was a 
warm-hearted ])ut choleric German nobleman then in exile h'oni home for 
some political oftense, but now restored to his ancestral domains and a 
member of the German Reichstag. With his martial function in the school 
lie united instruction in the niodern languages, fencing, dancing, and horse- 
man-.hi|). ( )nc of his |.)eculiar lines of |)unishment was snap[)ing the head 
of a [)upil with his stout midtUe hnger in a siiigLdarly acute and convinc- 
ing way. in the (.Irill, though he liad Prussian notions of exact discipline, 
he was satll)' handicapped l)y his broken iMiglish, whicli, w itli its decrepit 
tenses and wandering gentlers, was a source to all of us of Linlxiunded fim. 
In some of his nmre angry moods his grammar was ol asttuuuling 
originalitw Once, for instance, when his company was fronted in cloulile 
lines, he ga\f the oi'der, " Right wheel," correcting it instanth' int(.) " Left 
wheel"; but his perverse rank and file, e\er prompt to take advantage 
of his slips, wheeled both wings into each other in wild confusion. Then 
the: frantic drill-master ruslu-d among his demoralized troops, cu.ffing" offi- 
cers antl privates right anti left, as he yelled, " Captain Parsons, \ou are 
a geese," and pointing to various others, " \'ou geese, he geese, him 
geese, all gooxe," emphasizing the last expleti\e with a wild fling of both 
arms in air. The |)ro\ocation in this case was one specimen out of many 
l)y which the refractor)- compan)' harassed its leader; and, if its perversity 



MR. GUNN AS TffE SC // GO L-MA STE R 

/9 

in mimic warfare were an}- test, in actual strife it would have l)een terrible 
only to itself 

Mr. tiunn's intense realism and contemiJt for h\ pocrisy and cant have 
been portrayed in an earlier cliaj^ter. In his methods of discipline they 
took the shajie of humanizim^- boys and making them natural rather than 
g-ivino- them an artificial polish. " Will you give me some ' t;;Aelopes ? '" 
said a boy one day to the master. " No, sir," he replied, "but I will give 
you some enrr/opes." He used to tell with zest of a college professor 
who. pointing out a common road-side plant, remarked to a passing 
countryman, "That's a splendid specimen of / 'crbasciDii tliapsKs" "Gosh," 
responded the rustic, "I thought 't was mullein." Mere tell-tales in the 
school he despised. " Don't dare to come to me with your petty com- 
I)laints," he used to say, "but learn to take care of them yourselves and to 
distinguish between personal squabbles and things that threaten the order 
of the school." As to formal religious training, there was little or none at 
the Gunnery. Sunday was made as sunny for the boys as was consistent 
with public proprieties. The scholars had to attend one session of church 
and also Sunday-school ; a letter had to be written home by each of the 
small boys, and occasionally a malefactor was sentenced to read a sermon 
of Mr. Beecher's; otherwise, save in its family meeting and its prohibition 
of sports and games, the Sabbath was simply a quiet and restful holiday. 
Cards, round dances, and other alleged inventions of the adversary were on 
week days and out of school hours not merely tolerated but encouraged. 
"They are good in themselves," the teacher used to say, "and only a 
wrong spirit makes them wrong." As to dancing, we may add, Mr. 
Gunn regarded it as only one phase of that refining influence of pure- 
minded girls which at the Gunnery was so constantly educating the boy 
tor woman's society and companionship. 

As this chapter draws to its close the reader ma)- be conscious of a 
strange anomaly. Many words have been used to describe a complex 
system of discipline the real results of which were to minimize all dis- 
cipline. The original and niany-sided quality of the master's government 
has made it necessary to illustrate his sway with a minuteness which may 
seem to argue a burdensome and ramified set of whimsical rules rather 
than the breezy freedom which actuall)- pervaded our school-life; but 
just as good citizens under true civic liberty never feel the law that they 
never violate, so at the Gunnery the great majority of lads never realized 
any severe restraint at all. At no point were the rational pleasures of 
youth barred ; never did penalty follow any act but an abuse of liberty ; 
and all a boy had to do was to obey natur.d laws, and enjoy pri\ileges 



So 



THE ^fASTER OE'THE GC'NXERY:' 



that could scarcely have been larger in his own home. So, while a volume 
might be penned on the subject of Ciunnery discipline, it is not on that 
discipline that the backward look of tlie old Gunnery boy ever pauses. 
We recall rather an era of uncurbed freedom in a spot hallowed by home 
affections without home effeminacies, where every bad trait of the boy- 
was systematically assailed and every good quality strengthened, so far 
as might be, to take its final place in an enduring character and robust 
manhood. 




Ill'P 



V 



Gunnery Sports 



EVV of us, now entering the 
noonday shadows of Hfe, who 
twenty years ago passed through 
the gracious experiences of the Gun- 
nery, can forget its pleasant cycle 
of school-boy sports. To the strip- 
hng anywhere, who is a true boy and 
mherits the normal passions of boy- 
hood, the bat, the oar, and the reel 
are as natural as his own growth. 
lUit at the Gunnery this innate im- 
pulse of youth was strengthened by 
some novel local forces ; for nowhere 
ever had boys a fairer field than at the 
dunner} for emulative struggle on the green- 
sward and for the more solitary delights of woods 
and waters The master encouraged and almost com- 
pelled every kind of rational exercise as part of his scheme of character- 
building. He lent to sports not merely the stimulus of his personal 
example, but the keener spur of personal enthusiasm. Being in many 
phases of his personality a scarcely disguised boy himself, he had a heart- 
felt love of boy's play. No narrow bounds of space pent up our ardor, for 
every lad could roam at will through the township and on his Saturday 
holiday was allowed to make long, lonely excursions to lake or river, 
limited as to distance only by his own endurance. 

The region itself was an Eden for the young sportsman. No hills in 
picturesque New England are steeper, no wooded glades fairer, than those 
that in every direction encircle the little hill-top village. Through every 
1 1 








OVER THK BLACK ICli. 



valley tumbles a crystal 
Inuit-hrook, falling" to the 
Shepaug- river, which cuts the 
township in twain. The woods 
feathered the distant slopes and 
climbed to the crests where broad 
reaches of underbrush covered the nestetl partridj^e and cjuail. In winter 
there was for coasting' the steep hill at the very doors ot the Gunnery, 
worn by the runners of the sleighs to icy smoothness; or the near mill- 
pond in the valley, where, ere the earl)- snow fell, or after some short- 
lived thaw, the boys buckled on their glanciuL;' skates. 

I)Ut it was chiefly on base-ball, played upon the \illagc green tluring 
the long- summer term, that the sportive zeal of the school centered; and 
\\]-iat genuine boy could resist the enticements of a game which drew 
together all the- villagers as spectators, ami numbered the n-iaster himself 
an-iong its n-iost fervent votaries, while at niatches the girls kept score, 
and son-ie of the n-iore en-iotional drow neel defeat in tears! 

'Die annals of the primitive game of " base " — the "ball" is conipara- 
li\-el\ a modern affi.x — ^^o back in New luigland to a period beyond the 
ken of the [iresent generation. It was a nule Sjjort then in the ancestral 
\'ankee chi)-, differing wide!)- in details fron-i the |)resent form ot the game, 
though in general outline somewhat like it. The ball was ot the "pud- 



GUNNERY SPORTS. <i. 

ding" order, made of slackly wound yarn, rouyhly sewed within quarter 
sections of thin calfskin, and so soft that its impact even on callow parts 
of the human frame produced none of the startling- sensations oi tlie more 
recent cannon-ball in leather. Struck on the lower quarter, alUn- the 
fashion of "fouls," that original sphere took, when whizzing in air, an 
oblong shape, and its erratic leaps on a rough ground defied the most 
expert. The bat was of any contour or size, from a whitded-off picket torn 
from a convenient fence to a four-foot section of a bean-pole. The striker 




A BALI, MATCH. — IKOM AN F.AHI.\ 



ran on all hits, even on "tips," and the highest art of the old rustic player 
was exerted to hit a '■ liack " ball to some point far remote from the gen- 
eral field of players. In this way advantage was taken of the projected force 
of the ball, resulting in some tremendous hits. The forerunner of the pres- 
ent pitcher in those ancestral times threw the ball overhand, and the 
modern s\stem of taking the ball on the fly close behind the bat was ante- 
dated by the primitive catcher, who, moreover, when uncommonly skilled, 
reached over the batsman's shoulder and took the ball before it reached 
what is now the home-plate. Perhaps, however, the most curious and 
original rule of all was one allowing the player to be put out wh(;n run- 



8^ THE MASTER OF ''THE GCXXERY." 

ning bases by hittins^' him witli the thrown ball ; it the runner was missed, 
the ball, of course, flew to infinite realms ot space, and the player could 
usually finish his run in security. Another lively feature was the privilege 
a player had, after a long hit, of going twice around the bases if he could ; 
and if he accomplished this sort of double home-run, he canceled all the 
" outs " on his side. 

Washington gray-beards still remember Mr. Gunn's proficiency in the 
sport. He played thrower and catcher with e(iual iacility, and he was 
famous for the unerring precision with which at long distances he hit the 
base-runner. 

Graduall)- this old diversion was merged, a quarter ol a century ago, 
into the earlv forms of what is now the refined game of base-ball. The 
new sport, with its intricate and ever-expanding code ot rules, hrst took 
root in the cities, whence it was exported to the country by the city youth 
in rural boarding-schools, and it was adopted by the Gunnery striplings 
in Washington probably as early as in an\' other \'ankee village. Many 
of us can recall vividly the swift rise of the game to a popularit)- little short 
of frenzy. Every village and hamlet sang the praises of its nine, and in the 
cities the list of clubs rivaled the Homeric catalogue of the ships. Youth 
and beauty, tottering age and sedate manhood, all clustered at matches 
around the fateful diamond, and the vindictive rivalry generated between 
local nines at times resembled more the deadly feud of a Corsican ven- 
detta than the manly emulation of a sport. As played in that period by 
bucolic nines, the new game had a democratic range and flavor. During 
half the time of a match the rivals wrangled as a kind ot joint conunittee 
on rules, and every spectator constituted himself an assistant umpire with a 
voice if not a vote. The position of the umpire proper was most somber 
and depressing. Lucky the man who in that gloom)- judgment-seat 
passed the ordeal of a match without being superseded. .\ phrase by 
which the writer once heard a country captain describe his nine, hits off 
'A\)i\\ in a sentence this parliamentary era ot our national sport. "Our 
nine," said he, "can't bat much or throw iiuich or catch much, but they're 
first-rate /a/kcrs." 

At the (lunner)- and in the staid farm towns that adjoin Washington 
the game was pla\ed in a more pacific temi)er, ami an umpire's lite never 
was seriously imperiled. To gain a place on the tu'st nine ot the 
school was a Gunnery boy's hottest ambition, sought tar more stren- 
uously than the later ])rizes battled for so fiercely in the larger 
rivalries of lite. lieginning with tlie year 1S59, when two matches with 
a brawny nine trom Litchtu'Kl, comj)Ose(,l largely ot okl "wicket" placers, 



G UNNE RY SPOR TS . 



85 



ended in defeats, each summer at the (jiinnery has IjroiiLj'ht its lusty base- 
bail ambitions, its faithful practice, and its half-dozen regular matches with 
country clubs. The first nine of the school never had the muscles or years 
that fitted it to cope with the teams of strong men which it was compelled 
to face. One or two veteran players, including Mr. Gunn and a hard- 
handed countryman or two not usually members of the school, made up 
its quota of grown men ; but its practice and training were incessant. 
Each evening of the long summer days the boys, after supper, trudged 
up the steep hill to the Green to "choose up" and practice until the ball 
could barely be descried in the deepening twilight. At noon, in the 




A PATH BY THE LAKK 



short morning recess, even on Saturday evenings after fatiguing excur- 
sions, the inevitable group of ball-players took their places on the Green. 
The nine finally chosen after this long sifting practice accomplished won- 
ders. When pitted against the powerful teams of whiskered athletes from 
abroad, it seemed a group of dwarfs facing Titans. But its thorough 
training, nicer knowledge of the fine points of the game, and accurate hit- 
ting, easily made it for many years the champion club ot the county. To 
see a boy of thirteen facing a hot "liner" from the Init of a rustic giant, or 
a far-away "sky-scraper" caught on the run by a youngster who on the 
slope of the distant left field looked no bigger than a child, was no uncom- 
mon episode of those days. What enthusiasm, never wakened since by 
our college victories over the gladiatorial Atlantics or Eckfords, fired the 
Gunnery stripling of that era! and how the blood darted to our finger- 
ends at the base hit that at last let in the winning run of the game ! If 
the nine were defeated, — a rare event on Washington (ireen, — the effect 
on the little community was starding in its pathos. The girls fairly wept 
in their acute sorrov.-, and the rugged citizens of the village grew grim as 
bereaved mourners at a funeral. A thick gloom settled on the town, and 



86 THE MASTER OE ^^THE GCXXERY." 

for hours the little villa^^e seemed like a Southern city elurino- pestilence. 
In after )ears, if the writer may now confess it reluctantl)-, no ball victories 
were ever more exhilarating than those sometimes won liy his native 
Litchfield team over the Gunnery nine. The human heart at best is 
depraved, and there came over us in Litchfield a kind of satanic delight 
in the prowess which could not merely cleieat so doughty a foe as the 
Gunnery team, but, at the same blow, inflict a tremendous local calamity. 
How vi\idly stream back the lights of memory to that familiar scene 
at the old ball -ground on the day fixed for a match game ! For days 
before there has been a buzz of speculation as to the positions of the players, 
the possible absence of this or that member of the nine, and fearful rumors 
as to the skill of the adversary-. At last comes the momentous day, and 
the hour when some watchlul small boy runs up breathless to herald to the 
waiting spectators the coming wagon of the big rivals from Litchfield, 
Woodbury, or New Milford. The day is one fit for the very gods of the 
ball-field. A gentle breeze waves the rustling maples darkening in the 
deep shadow cast athwart the field by the much-battered church. The sun, 
in a clear blue sky, suftiises in light the whole picture, sa\e where the great 
far hills lift their slopes to the horizon bathed in a dreamy haze. And then 
the scene upon the ball-ground itself! The bevies of pretty girls, each 
with her .score-. sheet, fringing the sward with lines of beauty or grouped 
in living bouquets in the near yards; the young players in position on 
the field, confronting a nine of twice their muscle and size ; and 
over all the predominating figure of Mr. Gunn covering the first base 
with l)road chest and bare brown arms, — the frame of a bearded Hercules 
hiding the heart of a boy. With what profound emotions the fortunes of 
that day were .scanned; how hearty the applause that stirred the bosom of 
the player alter a good hit; how rasping the misery that, tor the moment, 
followed his error ; and finally, the congratulations in victorw the sympathies 
in defeat! It is one of the saddest thoughts ot life tliat with man's estate 
we have grown callous to those old blood-thrills, losing in our blunted 
manhood not merely the emotions, but all capacity for them ; so that now 
not the highest achievement ot wealth or tame could give us that old (|uiver 
of delight stirred by a home-run on W'ashington (ireen. The old player 
who goes back now to that field of his earl_\- triumi.)hs Imds that much is 
changed. Ball-playing has been interdicted on the Green, where a grass- 
grown sward covers up the old l^ase-lines, and hides the worn oval around 
the home-plate. He recognizes, not without search, the spot where the 
master ])la)etl first base with his nine and across which, as it seemed not 
by chance, his coftln was borne to its hill-side grave. P)Ut no change 



G UNNE R \ ' SPO R TS. 



87 



can efface for the old Gunnery ball-player the sweet and solemn 
memories that gather about the spot. Again he hears the shouts 
of victory, and sees the clustered spectators, the sun-lit held, and 
the familiar figures of the old players manning the bases. Whither have 
they departed, how have they fared in this grim, selfish, responsible strucrgle 
of life — some who were children then with grown-up children of their own 
now; some pierced by enduring sorrow in desolated homes, others in 
happy households with child-faces round the hearth-stone; some recoilin<r 
in the long battle of life, and a little band fighting wearily to fame in its 
van ; some poor, some prospered, and not a k\w against whose names is 
set already that great final " Out " which waits in time to be scored against 
us all. 

It must be conceded, in fairness, that the e.xceptional configuration of 
the W'ashington ball-field, and our familiarity with its peculiar local effects, 
were somewhat important factors in our long run of success. The much- 
pounded church, with its blinds splintered by vagrant balls, stood close by 
the third base, intercepting foul flies, and forming a most effectual back-stop 
for any balls thrown from the pitcher to the baseman. " If we can't beat you, 
we'll knock your darned old sanctuary to pieces at any rate," was the male- 
diction of a big batsman from Plymouth, who once, at the close of a losino- 
game, hit ball after ball thwacking against its venerable clapboards ; and 
his phrase, no doubt, expressed the truculent feeling of many visitini-)- nines 
after defeat on our home-field. Moreover, the soil of the Green, packed hard 
by the feet of the Washington generations that have traversed it, made the 
ball bound with a brisk persistence that for some innings decidedly puzzled 
strangers. The importance of the steep slope in left field, trending 
down to the edge of the Gunnery hill, was also acutely appreciated by the 
local nine; while the store which loomed up beside right field, flanked by 
grassy yards, was a favored spot for the long left-handed parabolas for which 
Mr. Gunn was both famous and trustworthy. Mr. Gunn himself was about 
the only one to secure the advantage of lifting the ball over " Grandma 
Brinsmade's house," which bordered on right field ; but no one grudired him 
the home-runs he made by his prowess, and all joined in the hearty lauo-h 
he had ample time to indulge in after completing his run, before the ball 
was found. Our old set phrase about the field, " as fair for one side as the 
other," with which we met objection, was not (juite conclusive, coming as it 
did from a nine trained to the local lesions of the soil. 

Nevertheless, a club which proved as thoroughly as did ours its skill 
on alien fields must have had something more than domestic prowess. Our 
proficiency must be ascribed rather to the master's insistence on faithful prac- 



88 



THE MASTER OF -THE GUNNERY:' 



tice, and to his pc-rsonal presence on that first l^ase, which lie held by a sort 
of prescriptive ri^ht. His play of his jjosition was nearl\- jjcrfect, and many 
were the wiile-thrown balls which that far-stretching- left hand of his — 
once despairingly termed by a visitor the "hand of Providence" — reached 
and held. Almost fantastic now, in view of the accepted theories of school 
tliscipline, seems the encouragement he gave to the game. fie masked 
but ill untler the duties of the teacher his ))rofound love of the sport. 
.School "let out" for a match, for a game in honor ot a visiting old boy 




A WINTER IHNT. 



who had been a pla\'er, for almost an\- e.xcuse under which the base-ball 
iminilse lurkeil ; and the captain of the nine never went to him in vain to 
get ijeniiission loi^ those pleasant out-ol-town trijis to pla\' a match on a 
school da\-. During the summer term of i<S65, if the writer remembers 
accuratel}', out of six matches pkned, lour came off on e\tem|)orized holi- 
days, and the skilled nine of that season won iwKi out ot the six contests, 
each being played against a strong team of men. 

Many were the curious incidents, most of them lorgotten, that from 
time; to time gave spice to the game during its long popularity at the (iun- 
ner\-, where it is still pla)-ed as a systematic sport. Once in a match game, 



GUNNERY SPORTS. 89 

when the bases were full, a fair right-field ball was hit through the store 
window, and after making a lively circuit through the Yankee notions on 
the shelves, ended its erratic trip under a large iron safe, whence it was not 
dislodged for half an hour. Occasionally the ball caught in the forks o{ 
the lofty maples, and once it lodged in tht: church belfry. Several times in 
the writer's memory it entered the church windows, compelling a long 
and sacrilegious hunt under the pew seats. A very funny episode once took 
place at a game organized among the young ladies of the village, who in 
those days wore hoop skirts of ample circumference, which acted as a sort 
of drag-net, entangling anything caught in their intricate meshes. A 
fair player struck a ball at the home-plate which, as she started to run, 
bounded into her skirts, all unobserved by her, and caught there. "Run, 
run!" cried the spectators, and she flew around the bases, making a clean 
home-run before the ball dropped and rolled on the ground, to the 
uproarious delight of the lookers-on, including Mr. Beecher, whose keen 
enjojment of the episode is recalled by many of us, and who promptly 
christened the little maid the "Belle of the Ball-ground." 

As base-ball was the foremost sport of summer, so was foot-ball the 
dominant game during the long Washington winters, and as far back as 
thirty years ago it was played constantly on the snow-covered Green. 
Unlike base-ball, this sport at the Gunnery has undergone no variations, 
and a simple set of rules has preserved for it the freedom and range of 
which the Rugby code has robbed it at our colleges. Let any old boy who 
remembers how the game was played at Washington, with the steady 
struggle, the continuous excitement, and the arduous skill displayed in 
"babying" and the old "toe catch," visit nowadays one of the modern 
set-tos between the picked elevens of our colleges; he will tmd half the 
time fixed for the game wasted in tedious delay, discussion, or technical 
wrangle. The referee plays a large fraction of the game; the ball, during 
its brief spasms of life, is handled or thrown instead of kicked, and the 
very title of the game has become a misnomer. This attempt to make 
the game more scientific has completely refined away its spirit and cost it 
that free "all-over" play which used to be its unique charm. 

In the Gunnery game there were no upright posts for goals of the modern 
pattern, l)ut simply the two fences at either end of the long green, against 
which the ball had to be forced to score a victory ; and a catch on the fly 
or bound as well as a "pick-up" from the toe — a trick, though it seems 
very simple to the eye, acquired only by long practice — were the con- 
ditions of a free kick. Except in an honest effort to catch it, the ball 
could not be touched b\- the hand of a player, and his supreme art 
12 



90 



THE MASTER OF '-THE GCXXERV: 



was to "bal)\-" — or, as the verl) then wa^- 
" putjglc " — the niinl)Ie ^loljc 1))' short kicks 
past his adversaries. In this pugi^'Hno-, now a 
lost art in foot-ball, and really a skilltul system 
of boxing the ball with the feet, the deftness 
reached by some of the old (nmnery players 
would astound the spectators of the modern 
"forensic" foot-ball match. In the genesis 
of the game at the Gunnery the primitive 
ball was a leathern case sometimes filled 
with ha\', but more otten expanded by 
a blown-up bladder securely laced in. 
At the writer's time, however, this 
roui'h l)all had been discarded for 

















A. 



lEI.P KO( K. 



the air-tight rubber case blown up with a tulje. \\'hate\er the criticism 
that ma\' lie passed on our old-fashioned s[)ort, it jjrovetl its practical 
merits b)- its popularity at the (iunnery. All through the long winters, 
in snow and in slush, under sunshine and cloud, young and okl, includ- 
ing not a few grown-up citizens oi the \illage, took part in the contests. 
Singh' games rart'ly lasted more than fifteen minutes, but li\eliness is 
a mild term to describe their activities. The l)all flew brisklv from end to 



GUNNEJiY SPORTS. 



91 




lul ot the lon^ htld at one 
instant "bab\ccr 1)\ an expert, 
iiion ilxinL; iai in an and again, 

n Ilss tmie than it takes to say 
It the focus of a melee of kick- 
ing, strugohnL; tunibhng boys. 
F"\er) where was swift move- 







ment change and a shift- 

ui^ \ et e\ei -present center 

of interc st and excitement. 

Man) were the headlong 

^/ / yr pitches on the snow and Mr tSunn 

'^ himself not seldom measured his length 

after collision w ith some biawn\ da\ scholar 

' witli flesh hai'tlenetl b)- summer toil on the farm. 

But not tumbles on the snow, nor feet moist 

from the all-penetrating Yankee slush, nor storm nor rain curbed the 

young placer of that daw whose youth was strong in its flushing health. 



92 



THE MASTER OE ''THE GUNNERY." 



its ([Liick inilse-throbs, and its indomitable viyor. How one siyhs in 
these later days, when the flesh weakens so readily, for that old time when 
we sped over Washington Green and were tireless as yoiiny hounds after 
hours of active play ! 

One or two of our minor games at the (iunnery, |)layed with a hall and 
now almost obsolete, maybe recorded as curiosities of outdoor amusement 
in New England twenty-five years ago. 

A game popular with the younger lads at the Gunnery was styled 
" Roly Boly." The essential outfit consisted of a rubl)er ball, a little heap 
of broken bits of clam-shell, and a group of small holes in the ground a 
few inches apart. The bowler, who liimseli had chosen one ot the holes, took 
the ball, and trom a line a dozen teet away rolled it gently toward the honey- 
coml). If it tell into one of the holes, the owner seized the l)all, and, without 
chasing, tried to hit one of his fleeing mates. If he succeeded, the victim got a 
bit of clam-shell into his hole and became bowler ; if he failed, he got a clam- 
token for himself Whenever the clam tally in a particular hole reached 
six, the game took on a tresh and invigorating phase ot penalty. The 
"six-man," as he was called, threw the liall three times against the church, 
and the spot where it struck the ground after its farthest recoil was 
marked by a line. Then the victim, facing against the church, with 
ducked head gave each player a number ot throws against him, equal 
always to six, minus the clam-shells in the thrower's hole. With a 
goodly numljer of players who were precise and muscular marksmen 
the game had enlivening eftects, varying with the hardness ot the ball and 
the density of the six-man's integuments. 

Vox coasting, that most common but perha[)s most tascinating ot winter 
sports, the long slojje ot roadwa)' which the Cjunnery fronted was a 
spot after the school-boy's own heart. Beginning at the Green, the road 
ran down a few rods to an abrupt corner, and perhaps an eighth of a mile 
below and near the foot was a second sharp curve. Reasoning on abstract 
principles of ho\ pleasiu'e, these corners modified the tun by reducing 
velocity ; but trom the boy's point ot view they were really a huge atlvan- 
tage, for they gave a spice of danger and exacted no small skill in steering. 
It was usually several days after a deep snow-fall Ijefore this splendid 
slope got into ])rinie condition tor making speed. The dry snow would 
not i)ack, and the ridge in the miildle of the roadway, on either side of 
which the runners of the farmers' sleighs dug their turrows, was a griev- 
ous test of school -boy [patience. But ere long this ridge succiunbed, and 
the whole roadwa)' was lexeled to an ic)' surtace ot hartlened snow. 
Down this steep incline we used to speed by actual timing as tast as a railroad 



G UNNE RY SPOR TS. 



93 



train. Over the frequent " thank-you-marms " the flying sleds leaped like 
greyhounds, clearing a dozen feet at a bound, and on the sudden turns the 
side\va\" momentum wrecked many a bold coaster on the imbeaten snow. 
To that Gunnery hill, on a bright moonlight night, the soft rays glancing 
through the naked trees and touching with silvery sheen the icy track, the 
.slope thronged with lads and lasses, peals of laughter in the air, and the 
swift sleds shooting down in dark procession — to such a scene, often an 
episode of winter life at the Gunner)-, memor\' still flies lo\ingly back. 
The cit\- t\ro whose sled has ne\er tempted r>older \-entiu-e than the 



"^^ci'^' 






'■"iil.r'..:^. 



'CAMP COMIORT. AT OLD MIII-OIJl) 



gentle slope of a hillock in a vacant lot never knows the skill which a 
practiced coaster uses on an ice mountain like that before the Ciunnery, for 
steering a sled is an art acquired only b\- persistence and at the cost of 
many a disciplinar\- tumble. The sled-pilot's foot wrongl)' placed for an 
instant wrecks his snow cralt as surely as the wrong turn of the tiller cap- 
sizes a yacht in a gale. The coaster must not steer too much or he 
reduces speed, yet at critical points he must bear down at e.vactly the 
proper angle with all the strain he can exert ; all this on a flimsy frame- 
work of wood, darting forty miles an hour and leaping every little 
obstruction with a mighty bump. With practice, however, a sled became 
almost a part of a boy, and by some automatic process he learned to steer 
by a shifting movement of the body, scarcely touching the foot at all to 
the ground except on the sharper curves. 

Four miles north of Washington, in a deep cleft of the mountains, lies 
Waramaug lake, one of New England's fairest sheets of water, and now 
with the advent of the railroad popularized into a summer resort. At no 
place more than half a mile wide, the mountain spurs dive into it on every 
side and rise from its depths to the height of a thousand feet, crowned by 
the •' Pinnacle," a bare dome of rock, rounding" sk\ward from the 



94 



THE MASTER OF -THE GUXXERY 



tree-tops. Vrom tlie Pinnacle, reached through a bushy path after a lono- 
and devious climb, a t;Tand view opens to the eye, — tar to the north-west 
the hazy Catskills, eastward the Litchfield ridyes, and, below, the wind- 
ing' lake and a green checker-board of meadow lands. The lake has long 
been a spot of supreme felicity for Gunnery lads, and the Saturday trips 
thither used to be longed for through the week in the fervent spirit with 
which the Mohammeelan dreams of Paradise. Many a time on P'riday 
nights, with well stocked lunch-basket and bait-box, did we traverse the 
two long hills Ijetween the Gunnery and the lake, where, at Hoar's 




HRAUTIFri.. 



Head or near some convenient barn, we went to rest in the m\sterious 
mountain silences broken only by the plaintive, double note ot the whip- 
poor-will. We knew that the half-hour before sunrise was worth all the 
rest of the day for hooking the black bass, king regnant of the game fish 
of New England waters. The first dull light of dawn always found us 
pulling to the fishing grounds. With what trepidation then we dropped 
the big stone anchor and waitetl for the steaily, strong dip of the rod by 
which the bass signals his bite ! Often there was a whole day of disap- 
pointment, for the bass is the most whimsical of fishes as to his feed and his 
times and places for taking l)ait. P>ut now and then we found the fish in 
the nipping and eager humor which assured glorious sport. Almost at 
the first throw, one of us would strike a two-pounder. 'Phen came a rush 
like a race-horse, a whirr of the rattling reel, a sudden slack of the line as 
the mad fish leaped in air, with gills (.■.\|)andetl ami e\er)' fin erect, to dis- 
lodge the restraining barb. • That crisis past, after a series ot fierce 
lunges, with the line (|ui\ering athwart tlu' hngers, how gleefully we 
dragged at last the fiun\- \ ictim to his doom ! ( )nce tluring our fishing 
at the lake, a big bass, uKukk'ned b\- the liook, kil into tlu- boat at his first 
leap. in andlher famous instance the lish made his run under the boat; 



G UNNE R V SPO R TS. 



then came the inevitable leap, and tlie taut Hne threw him back over the 
gunwale on the side opposite where he had bitten. They tell in later 
times how a school of large bass that had run down from Bantam lake in 
Litchfield gathered in Piatt's mill-pond, west of the Gunnery; how the 
owner of the only eligible spot for taking them forbade fishing on his 



Mh^-<: 







THE LAST CAMPING-GROUND — hawks' POINT. 



land ; and how one day a diminutive Gunner)- bo)-, whose fishing jjrowess 
seemed limited to unwary "pumpkin-seeds," was allowed by the owner to 
drop his line in the favored spot, only to have his sport summarily inter- 
dicted when, at his first throw, he landed a three-pound bass. At the lake, 
as stated, sport was capricious ; but it is on record that on one memorable 
day, after a night of rain, two of us caught a round hundred bass. That 
phenomenal catch, as the writer recalls it, covered completely the bottom 



96 



THE MASTER OE-TIIE GUXNERY. 







^X t^-jfV ■,"'» 






•to t-^-. 



SAMSilN S ROCK. 



of the boat, and Init for a convenient lift in a farmer's wagon never would 
have reached the (iunner\-. 

Earlier in the season, while the bass were still breeding' on their sand 
disks, those of us who l)est loved angling used to make long trout-fishing 
excursions, whii)[)ing the dashing mountain brooks or wading down the 
Shepaug, where larger though rarer hsh repaid the angler's skill. In trout- 
iiig, too, the wider sco|;e of the art, aiul the constant variety as one 
tramped from one ripple or waterfall to another, gave keener zest than 
monotonous boat-fi.shing on still waters. Hunting, at the (nmnery. came 
later in the season, and, without clogs, was rather ill re[)aid in the thick 
Washington underbrush. Ihit. ne\(_'rthele<s, in |)opularit\' at the school it 
rivaled fishing, and hatl its own round of delights for those who trudged 
through the rustling leaves of the woods during the l)reezy November 
days. The master was himself a capital shot with the rifie, which in later 
times always lay by his side during his summer drives, to the doom of 
man\- an unwitting woodcliuck. In shooting, as in angling, Mr. (iunn 
allowH-d a latitude almost excessive; \et, though small bo\"S carried guns 
and hunted in com|)an\-, no serious accident in that or an)' other sport 
has thus tar marred the annals of thirty \'ears of school-boy lite at the 
(iunnc'rx. I'erha|)s the ininuuiitx of the bo\s from niishaps with fire-arms 
should be largcl\- attributed to one of his cpieer iii\erted apothegms 
fountled on his acute knowledge of l)oy character. " \e\'er Ije ah'aid of 
loaded guns," he used to say; " it is the guii that isn't loadetl that alwaj's 
kills somebod)-." 



G UNNE R Y SPOR TS . 



97 



Sometimes in summer the whole school went tor a nig^ht's camp to 
Steep Rock, a name far too prosaic and tame to fit the unappreciated won- 
ders of nature it describes. A mile and a halt south-west ot the \illage, 
after climbing a steep Hill of Difficult)-, one comes to a neat farm-house, 
flanked by a rustic gate that opens to a lane wrinkled by the spring rains 
into stony ravines. .\ half-mile tiirther on is a slope of meadow capped 
by a narrow fringe of woods. Pass through this little border of trees that 
like an eyebrow arches the approach to the rock, and with a few steps the 
grand work of nature bursts upon the sight. You stand on the brink of a 
vast gulf but a gulf filled with picturesque beauties. Directly in front and 
sheer down, as it seems to the eye, breaks a precipice five hundred feet 
high. Right and left the clift turns in a mathematical curve, sloping down 
in diminishing spurs to a wooded level on either side half a mile away. 
Trees and underbrush hide the gaunt surfaces, and far below, close at the 
foot of the cliff, the Shepaug forms a grand semicircle as perfect in its lines 
as if nature had done her work with a compass. It seems as if one might 
jump from the edge of the precipice to the clear water rippling below in the 
sunlight, although in reality it takes a vigorous throw from the top to land 
a stone in the river. With the trees in full leaf the .Shepaug running with 
abundant waters and the wind-gusts beating the rounded slopes of foliage 
into waves, the picture is indescribably beautiful. After many journeyings 
through Europe's scenic places, the visitor sees Steep Rock now with 
unabated admiration of its bold i)icturesqueness and wonder at its limited 
fame. In the White Mountains no tourist would pass it by, and in 
England, long ere this, that splendid amphitheater of nature would have 
attained national renown. Yet, strangely enough, 
its visitors are few, its celebrity local, and 
not one in twenty even of the residents of 
near towns has set foot on its fair crest. 

Outings nearer home ^vprf 
taken in the form of quiet 
picnics at "Amy's Grot- 
to," Prospect Hill, or 
Samson's Rock — the 
latter one of nature's 
curious freaks, a huge 
boulder dropped by 
the ancient flood or 
avalanche into secure 
but unstable position 




gS THE MASTER OE^^THE GUNNERY:' 

on an outcropping- side-hill ledge, in such fashion that, like Archimedes 
of old, a child with a "pou s/o" and a lence rail could easily rock it to 
and fro. Samson's Rock did dut\- nt)t only for gatherings of the many 
biit as a trysting-i)lace for the two, and more than one Gunnery boy loves 
it as the safe and silent witness of the beginning of tender associations 
which have continued to this da)-. 

I)Ut all these e.xcursions were trivial incidents at the Gunnery com- 
pared with the three trips which the whole household took to the sea- 
shore in the years iS6i, 1S63, and 1S65. Each August of those years 
the old school-bo)- hon-ie was ilepopulated while we n-iade the journey of 
forty miles to Welch's l^oint, which juts into Long Island .Sound, two 
miles south of Milford, Connecticut. Old boys came back to join the 
merry troop which, reenforced by local friends of the school, many of them 
young- ladies, made up a party of si.xty or niore. For months this "gipsy- 
ing," as we named it, was anticipated with i-i-iuch busy preparation, and 
many a sigh over the slowness of the passing days. The girls made them- 
selves vivandiere C(.)stiuues of flannel, and ever)- Ijo)- locjked well to his 
guns and fish-lines. It was an e\entful and joyous da)- when the loaded 
wagons, the donkeys, and the long troop of boys and girls dressed in all 
the hues of the rainbow, began their seaward march dow-n the river road, 
making the old woods echo with laughter and song. For thirty miles the 
journe)' took us through the bold \-alleys of the Shepaug and Housatoi-iic, 
along a shaded road cut from the hills and giving at ever\- turn some new- 
scene of beauty through the long river vistas. At night we camped in two 
or three big tents, and the close of the second day found us settled down at 
the Point, with the salt waves breaking on tJ-ie l)iuft"a few rods away. It was 
a jocund ten da)s tl-iat followed, witJ-i its sport in tlie surf, its evening 
songs, its dances on tlie turf l)\- i-iigj-it, its ball gan-ies, and its touches of 
more tender sentin-ient ii-i the moorilight, 

" Where youtlis and maidens, sittini; 'iieatli tlie moon. 
Dreamed o'er the fond old dream, from \\hich we w-ake too soon." 

When we first followed tlie rivers to the sea, in 1861, we were fired bv 
the news from the seat of war. If the joyful word ot a Union victor)- at 
I)ull Run was turned the next da)- to a n-iessage of defeat and panic, it 
onl)- served to turn our \-outhful ekuion into bo)-ish defiance; and a fresh 
im])ulse stirred our souls as we listenetl to that grandest of war-songs, the 
Battle II)-mn of the Republic. No one who camped 1))- the sea with us 
then can ever forget the thrill as there rang upon the air of night, fron-i the 



G L 'NNE R y SPO Ji TS. 



99 



throat of the sweet singer, as she stood there in the firehght, those inspir- 
ing words : 

" I have seen Him in the watch-hres of a hundred eircHnt,^ camps; 
They have builded Him an ahar in tlic evening dews and damps ; 
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps: 
Our God is marching on." 

At a later period this annual sea-side jaimt gave place to a Gun- 
nery camp at I'oint Ijeautikil, on Lake Waramaug, whose nearer waters, 
good fishing, and pictures<|ue shores made it an ideal spot for a summer's 




niE KABBIT THAI". 



holida\-. l-iut with the change in the Gunnerv school terms, 
and the transfer oi the long vacation to midsummer, gipsying, witli its mem- 
orable dehghts, has passed away. Xor can more than the cm-test allusion 
be made here to the long series of minor sports, — the semi-weekly swim in 
the deep, still nooks of the Shepaug; to winter skating on the mill-pond, 
the runs of hare and hounds through the snowy woods ; the eager quest 
among the traps and snares; the autumnal games of -'shinny" on the 



lOO 



J'HE .]/AST/<A' OF -THE GLWWERY: 



Grcc'ii or, later, aluixc the lihu'k ice on tlic pond, ami the continuous and 
varied round ol indoor jollities which marked the sweet home-lite of the 
Giinnc^ry duriiisj;' summer suns and winter snows. 

Thrice ha\e the iL;raduates of tlie Gunnery gathered to renew their 
school-boy sports at reunions of old boys held in 1869, '70, and '72. Those 
three o-atherings will i)e recalled as red-letter occasions in the long quarter 
century of the school under Mr. Gunn. The master was seemingly in his 
prime: a lighter tint of gray in his locks and a few deepening wrinkles 
were all the signs that gave token of the advancing age that was so soon 
to be shadowed b)- the disease that took him away. The whole school, 
and, indeed, all the community, surrendered themselves to the vacation 
pleasures ot those gala weeks. The master entered into the s|jirit of the 




Mk ■ ' 



IlAUl; AND IIUINDS. 



linu' with his familiar /est, and revived his xoiith to welcome the old boys 
who thronged from near and far back to tlu'ir old liome. ihcy came from 
all o\er the land — li-om marls ol trade and busy professions, some with the 



■■::ir>-^ 







::^ 



.^:J 






IN THE KOAI) TO THE RIVEK. 



school-boy flush still on their cheeks, some with wives and children, and 
not a few great, whiskered fellows with hair streaked with gray. Again 
the master took his old place upon the ball -ground ; again the old Green 
rang with the old-time voices, and the round of boyhood sports was 
repeated in woods and on waters, at the welcoming households of the vil- 
lage, and the pleasant gatherings at the Gunnery. What memories came 
rushing back, as in a flood, when the old fellows woke beneath the ancient 
roof-tree, or when those of the same school era gathered to review life 
e.xperiences — to tell of those who had prospered or had fallen by the way, 
and to compare those varied phases of life-work in which the master's 
method of character-building had wrought so much and so well! In later 
times the reunions were found too difficult of arrangement for both the 
master and the alumni to be regularly continued. The old boys were 
invited and welcomed to the lake-side camp at Point Beautiful, and many 
took for years their brief summer play-time there. But to most of us the 
larger school reunions gave the last touch of the Gunnery sports which 
have since sunk so far below the horizon that sober manhood can only call 
them up as a mirage, a vision, a memory. 

As boys we felt in all the sports of the Gunnery only the element of 
direct plea.sure. The master's deep plan of character-structure, now 
revealed to our maturer sight, was masked then. P'or, though he relished 



I02 TftE MASTEJ^ OF -THE GUNyERYr 

the fun with the foremost ol us, underneath all his encouragement of sports 
ran his deep con\-iction that the_\' strengthened not merely muscle and 
nerve, but character as well. To him the shock of the foot-ball melee, the 
emergencies of a close base-ball game, the self-restraints, the skill, the 
pluck that sports of the field enforced, were tests of boy-fiber which, often 
renewed, constructed a muscular cliaracter as surely as a muscular body. 
A lad flying like a l)ird down the ("lunnery hill, steering liis fragile sled 
around the curves with cool precision : another charging into the ruck of 
a toot-ball game, enduring with fortitude knocks and tumbles and rasping 
kicks: a )-out]i of fourteen on the home-plate facing the crisis of a base- 
ball match, with hundreds ot spectators hoping or dreading his coming 
hit ; or anotlier boy, \ersed in the crait of woods and waters, firinging 
down the partridge on tlie wing, or playing to his death the plunging 
l)ass, — all these, to the master's eye, were so many symbols of a system 
whose sequel and fruition were to be found in a solid and self-reliant 
manhood. Yet if to our maturer vision this wise scheme of the 
master were even now unrevealed, — if our present memory ran back 
merely to the sports alone, without their subtle meanings, — still there 
would be far more than could be portrayed here. Yor what words printed 
or spoken ever yet reproduced the unwritten thrills of boyhood? Words, 




I "tTl^J - ■ M ITCH K LI. 5, Hol.Ii. 

1 indeed, are scarcely more than sat! gliostly monu- 
ments that record w ithout rt'newing the figures of the tlusky past. But 
that past, as a whole, still rises in the lo\ing consciousness of every old 
Gunnery bo)-. The written sketch, with its dim outlines of the old time, he 



G UNN£R y SPOR TS. 



103 



reads between the lines. He peoples it anew witli familiar forms of old 
playmates now departed into the shadows ; and his fanc\- fills its voids with 
a hundred episodes of personal experience, which the pen, at Ijest, can por- 
tray but faintly. But whether recollection takes up that old life of ours in 
its outline or its detail, it will ever remain the same — a hallowed and 
blessed beacon whose lights gleam far down the rough track of life, and 
stream backward on an early vision of sun-lit trees, waving grass, and 
rippling waters, with youth for an inspiration and pleasure for a guide. 



' r 



^^^a 







t^-- 






ON BEE BROOK. 




THE MOTIII.R OF THE GUNNEKV. 



VI 



— ->-„_.^^-e;; 




The Homk-life 



OME may be likened to a founlain in many ways, 
but in none more aptly than by saying that it can 
never rise higher than its source. Parents fur- 
nish every fireside with character as well 
-4:' as with chairs and tables, and the finest 
knackery and furbishment cannot hide the 
power of the home either for good or for evil. 
There are crystallized the elements that form 
the nucleus of the child's future growth, and 
his entire career is colored by the lights and 
shades of home lite. 

When Mr. Gunn called the school which his 



^^''4'^n^^. genius had established "a home for boys," he 
t"'/ ^^^^ stated the simple, exact truth. To many schools 
'^^ ^''» that designation has been given by their promoters, 
and in many of them it is nothing more than a piece of cant vulgarized 
in the school circular ; but Mr. Gunn had the wisdom to place his school in 
a genuine and lovely home, and its success followed as a matter of course. 
No one who has experienced it can ever forget that awful desolation 
which consumed him when, in the days before the railroad reached Judea, 
weary and homesick he came to the end of that dragging ten-miles crawl 
from New Milford, and was left for the first time by the lumbering st-age- 
coach at the door of the Gunnery. It was as if a lump of cold lead 
among his vitals had become suddenly endowed with an animated vicious- 
ness and, besides depressing him with it. dull weight of inertia, was 
gnawing at his very heart. Hut scarcely had he crossed the threshold of 
that dear old house vmder the hill when his depression passed away, and 
he emerged from his gloom into the happy glow of a warm and welcoming 



lo8 THE MASTER OF ^^THE GUNNERY." 

home. The chill that hangs like a dank mist over many a well-meaning 
boarding-school was here found to exist only in the boy's fancy ; and the 
forlorn and saddened urchin to whom, as the stage climbed that final hill, 
every turn of the wheels was a reminder that one circumference less lay 
between him and al:iject misery, fell into the center of a circle within which, 
never changing, were cheerful love and tender solicitude. This could 
never have been, except for the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Gunn both had the 
parental instinct so strong that they really took to their hearts each Indi- 
vid Lial boy and brooded over him as it he were their own flesh and blood. 
There were ever chords of sweet sympathy, sometimes strangely stretched 
by the boy's own fault but never broken, which bound him fast to those 
gentle spirits who ruled and guided us all. 

.So true is this that, as the writer pauses at his task and looks back 
upon that distant but vivid picture which outlines the scenes of his early 
boyhood, he finds no distinction made by Mr. or Mrs. Ciunn between the 
love which they gave him and that which they gave to their own children. 
Doubtless the difference was there, but so thoroughly inclusive was the 
paternity of the master of the Ciunnery and the maternity of its mistress 
that to the mind of one boy at least it never existed. We were thrown 
together, Dannie Gunn, Mary and 1, in the days when the school was iar 
smaller than now, and the family circle less extended. We grew irom 
early childhood, side by side, and were nearly of the same age. 

Dannie — an honest, sturdw manly little fellow, a leader among his 
mates, c[uick of mind, apt ot body, fearless, truthful, and straightforward, 
with an inherited scorn for meanness ot every kind, and generous to a 
fault — inspired in the writer a brother's love which has sur\ived all the 
changes of twenty-five years and will continue ever as a fragrant memory 
of halcyon days. He was carrietl to his last resting-place before his 
career had fairly l)egun. and it is fitting that this tribute to his memory 
should be set in enduring form by one who knew him intimately, and 
loved him the more as he knew him the better. 

Mary — in those days, a cheerful, light-hearted, Irolicsome little maitlen, 
with childish ways that were ever tempered by a vein of womanly dignit\- 
as sister and companion — taught every boy with whom she was asso- 
ciated the lessons that a sweet girlhood always impresses, and to-day she 
carries on her shoulders the burden of perpetuating at the Gunnery the 
genius and character inherited from her parents. It is largely due to her 
efforts that the effects which Mr. Gunn wrought did not [perish when his 
body was laid at rest upon the western slope of that sun-kissed hill ; and, 
as an old l)oy ot the sixties watches the genial sweetness and ecjuable 



77/ a; home- life. 



109 



serenity that beam through her glasses now, he Hves again his boyhood 
days and sees her mother's spirit still hovering over the Gunnery, warm- 
ing ever)' chill with its glow and tempering all commotion with its 
calmness. 

We three loved in Mr. and Mrs. Gunn the same father and mother; and 
yet one of the three was really an alien, with home ties binding him 
to another center, and two were actually their own children. 

This all-embracing parental love was at the foundation of the home- 
life at the Gunnery. It gave to each boy that without 
^: which no place can be home-like, ever)- place 

V' must be barren A.dd to this tliat it was 

.., \ 







'^"v. 




x^"- 









a 



f^ 



IHL Gl NNT k\ IN 




a home, in which the lather was -^ , 

firm, but just and loving withal; at 

times stern and severe, but never failing to unite with 

his sternness a clearly defined purpose to help the culprit on toward 

hio-her thin<^'-s; aeain the ricrhteous judge, but judging with a countenance 

from which shone kindly sympathy and fatherly companionship — add also 

that in Mrs. Gunn was largely developed the character of mediator; that 

her evenness of temper and unfailing sunshine of good-will and serenity 

were ever jirominent, always acting as a check upon any tendency in 



no THE MASTER OE ''THE GUNNERY:' 

Mr. Gunn's nature toward gloom and despondenc)- — add again that the 
environment ot the school was fortunately such that it very materially 
assisted Mr. and Mrs. Gunn in their endeavors, and it is no longer a 
mj'stery that so many boys have added luster to the Gunnery by clean 
and honest living when they have passed beyond its portals. 

It has fallen to the lot of the writer to portray the life in this ideal 
home. To cover all the years from its inception to the close of Mr. 
Gunn's life would require a volume, but perhaps a fair idea of the whole 
may be derived from a glance back into the years lying round about 
the early sixties. 

It may be the tendency of the last generation to be conservative and 
old fogyish, and to cling tenaciously to the manners and traditions of the 
past, l)ut the writer has always felt that the home influences were most 
subtly true, most sensitively eftective, in the days that preceded the 
extensive alterations ot the Gunnery building and the enlargement ol the 
school. The mind travels back with a peculiarly appreciative sympathy 
to the old house as it stood at that time, nearly in its original form. 

There was the large family-room running through the house from east 
to west, made by cutting out a part of the jjartition between front and 
rear, and so forming a passage-wa\' of moderate width, with comtortably 
cushioned settees on either side. On those settees it was the delight of 
the mischievous to sprawl, so carelessly disposing of the ungainly nether 
extremities furnislied by nature to boys of tender years that the passer-by 
was sure to come into contact with them, l)y accitlent or otherwise, and go 
careening along toward his tlestination like a shi]) at sea. 

There was the much-enduring piano at the back, the passive promoter 
of various worn-out tunes with which those old walls, if anything be left 
of them, must still (|uiver, and which rise up immeUulious in the waking 
dreams of every old boy of that periotl. It went through all exjjeriences 
possible to a piano, from five-finger exercises to the I'ifth Symphou)-, and 
that it did not escape greater perils all will remember who were at the 
Gunnery when " Chick " Raymond pulled out its vitals to see how they 
were made. That ancient piano has of late been translated to a new realm 
of art, and serves as the board upon which delicate drawings for this \olume 
are traced by the artist's jjencil. Dumb ami motionless in the new school- 
house stand its remains, and one can in fancy hear the vigorous protest 
that an instrument formerly so important would make were the key-board 
replaced and its ])ower of sound restored. 

There were the book-cases built into the walls round al)out, and filled 
to f)\'erflowing with well-thumbed \-olumes gathered from e\er\- branch 



THE HO ME- LIFE. m 

of standard literature; and three or tour large round tables were scat- 
tered over the room, each surrounded with boys of all ages, from seven to 
seventeen, occupied with studies, or reading, or games, each in its hour and 
place. 

What a picture of joyous family life that old room presented in the 
long winter evenings ! Every table held its large oil-lamp, carrying a 




^TinVlNi; FRCJM NATURE AND FROM BOOKS. 



shade of some enlivening color, and the chairs were drawn up close from 
every side. During the hour de\oted to study silence prevailed, but 
when the clock chimed the hour of eight, books were shoved into the 
center of the table ; cards, backgammon, and chess-boards came out, and 
a chattering, happy hour was passed. A space was cleared away at the 
western end of the room ; some musical brother or sister ground out a 
lively tune upon the piano, and an impromj)tu dance began. The excep- 



112 THE MASTER OF -THE GlXNliRY." 

tional bow whose inclinations ran toward c|uiet and solitude, betook him- 
self, l)Ook in hand, to the adjoining room on the left known as the parlor, 
— although no room was accounted too good or too precious for general 
everyday use — and true happiness and comfort, occasionalh' modified by 
the noise which is inseparable from youthful lungs and legs, pervaded 
the atmosphere. At the stroke of nine, the dancing and games and 
reading ceased as if by magic; there was a grand rush after Mr. and Mrs. 
Gunn to give and receive the good-niglit kiss, and then the crowd of 
contented bo\-s melted away into the sleeping-rooms above. A delightful 
memory of the days when the family W'as small and manageable is con- 
nected with those winter evenings — Saturdays especially — when Mrs. 
Gunn read to the assembled youngsters from " Oliver Twist " and other 
good books, while the bovs departed in pairs ior their hot bath in the 
wash-house, returning half ready for bed, to get in whispers what they 
had lost of the story, and cuddle up in a warm corner with a pet kitten until 
the reading was over. 

On the right of the hall, as one entered the house, was the dining-room 
with its long tables always bounteously laden with wholesome food. Then 
there were the little tete-a-tete tables in the corners, each accommodating 
two boys. How we used to strive to become worthy of a seat in those 
corners ; for to each of them was brought a heaping plate of pancakes, 
such as at the larger tables was made to suffice for some half-dozen eager- 
eyed gourmands. The desire to occupy those tables resulted in an acute 
rivalry, and to be awarded a seat at them was a token of merit and a 
badge of good conduct. 

There was the spring at the kitchen-door, bubbling up into its sunken 
barrel ; the woodshed beyond, with sleeping-rooms above, and to the north, 
across the driveway, the wash-house with its big iron caldron below and 
second story so arranged as to furnish snug quarters ior four bo\s. Time, 
the destroyer, at last drove forth both kettle and boys; the architect and 
carpenter arrived, and that famous structure was remodeletl, rechristened 
the " He.xie" (from its hexagonal shape), and became thenceforth a vestal 
shrine, within which the young ladies of the family retired from the vulgar 
gaze. It was long l)elore the former occupants could be reconciled to this 
departure, and bitter was the warfare kept up over the name — the boys 
clinging to the original term "wash-house"; the girls demanding the more 
euijhonious " He.xie." .\ compromise on " Washa-hoosa ' was rejected, and 
at length, in accordance with the l;iw of the survival ol the fittest, the 
hulies luul their will aliout the matter. 

The sleeping-rooms above in the main house were ot all sizes, shapes, 



TJIK HOME- LIFE. 



113 



and descriptions, and into them, as the fame of the school grew, the boys 
were stuffed Hke herrings in a box. To such refinement was this stuffing 
process carried that one intelHgent observer was heard to express his 
surprise because he did not see a pair of legs sticking out of every chim- 
ney-top. For economy of room, Mrs. Gunn invented the "double-decker" 
bed, built upon the principle of berths in a ship or sleeping-car, so that 



sy^ / ^ 




IN THE TOWEK. 



two boys only covered the superficial area formerly occupied by one. But 
snugly as we were packed into those little rooms with the sloping ceilings, 
such discrimination was shown in the designation of room-mates that every 
one assimilated with his sleeping companions, and no one had the feeling 
that his neighbor crowded. 
15 



[,^ THE MASTER OE-THE GUNXERYr 

One of the most charminy^ recollections of life at the Gunnery is of the 
almost nightly pilgrimages made by Mr. Gunn through the dormitories. 
Soon after the bo\s had retired to their rooms, he would come upstairs 
carrying a lamp which, shedding its light l)eiore him, heralded his approach. 
He would then \isit one room or another, or all of them in turn, as the 
fancy seized him. Perhaps he would stop only a moment to bid a cheery 
good-night and pleasant dreams to the occupants ; again he would put 
down his lamp and visit for a half-hour or more. In these visits b\- night 
his intuitive knowledge of boys' hearts and characters shone forth with 
particular luster. The Ijoy whose conscience was haunted by a wicked 
deed done during the da)' would feel, after he had gone, that an offended 
deity had swept through his room and left it desolate. He would toss 
and tumlile and fret himself into sleep, only to awake in the morning with 
the conviction that the times w^ere out of joint. Another boy in whom a 
tendency along some special line of thought was developing would hnd a 
sympathetic companion in Mr. Gunn, who evinced a deep interest in the 
subject so near the boy's heart. To some little fellow smarting under a 
fancied wrong inflicted by a companion he was the tender, loving, com- 
passionate friend and protector. He would lie down upon the bed beside 
him, draw the lad's head upon his shoulder, and comtort him until the 
world again seemed bright and cheery, and his dreams for that night at 
least were unbroken. To the boy of virtuous life this bedside visitation 
was a balm of comfort; to the l)oy with a turn toward vice it a was purge 
of investigation ; to both it was a help toward higher and cleaner living. 
Mr. Gunn once said that he never felt that he had estafilished relations 
with a boy until he had lain b)- him on his bed and talked with him of his 
mother. His visits were not regular, but there was always a possibility 
that he might come, and the e.xpectation of his presence was a constant 
check upon riot and disorder. The rising bell was tlie signal for a merry 
shouting which sounded from room to room and roused the sleepiest. 
Every day was begun in this way. 

(^ft" the family-room below, already tlescribed, was the bedroom 
occupit'd by Mr. and Mrs. Gunn; and e\'en in those careless days many a 
boy's lieart was touched with pity at the thouglit that the night, which 
meant rest and ([uiet and secluded comtort to most of the world, should be 
passed by the heads of our family in such a place, at best onl\ a corridor, 
joining two important centers of family reunion — so dark that lamps 
were; souK-times lighted in the da\--time : so damp that mold was tempted 
to collect upon tlic articles it contained ; so tlismal that nothing less than 
a wonderful love and magnificent cheerfulness could have rendered it 



THE no ME- LIFE. 



' f5 



habitable at all. It was characteristic of both Mr. and Mrs. Gunn that by- 
far the most iaconvenient and unpleasant part of the house should have 
been taken by them for their own use. 

These uncomfortable quarters were the highway from the sitting-room 
to the "tower" beyond. Here was the center of the circle; here the 
point from which radiated all the influences that upheld the family govern- 
ment, and lent to it so large a measure of success ; here we gathered for 
the highest social joys ; here we dragged ourselves for examination, and 
for merited punishment when we were offenders. Years have rolled 




IHE BONFIUt IN THE GRO\ ^ 



away, trials and penalties have faded into the mist of the forgotten, and 
we only remember that quaint hexagonal room as the casket which con- 
tained the essence of that home-life so difficult to catch and place in cold 
words upon the paper. That old tower-room, gone to-day into the gulf 
of improvement which swallows up many a pleasant memory, was fortu- 
nately caught by the art of the photographer, just before its transformation 
in 1885, and those who loved it in the good old times need not lose its 
proportions and surroumlings. Again are seen its (jueer corners and 
angles, its bay-window, with a wealth of vines and flowers within and 
glimpses of nature without; its cozy resting-places, both of chair and 
sofa, scattered confusedly but invitingly about ; the six-cornered table, the 
capacious arm-chair with its afghan, always suggesting Mr. (nmn ; its 
lamps and book-cases and barrel-chairs; the pile of stockings, darned 



,,6 THE MASTER OE ^^THE GUNNERVr 

and otherwise. W'c have only to recall that kingly tii^ur(% with its bright 
smile of welcome for all, and we are carried in the twinkling of an eye 
hack to the times we are trying to describe. 

There Mr. Gunn could be found every evening, and about him clustered 
young and old, to be within the range of his companionship. If visitors 
were in the town they were sure to come ; many dear friends who lived 
about the Green would drop in tor a social chat; those boys who were not 
deep in books or sport edged in and sat in the corners, or stood about 
the walls; the young lady teachers who added so much to the success of 
the Gunnery by their true womanliness and self-sacrificing devotion were 
there ; and often some old boy who had drifted back to his former home, or 
perchance a parent with boys then at the school, swelled the group. Then 
was Mr. Gunn at his best. No subject was beyond his reach ; poetry, 
history, philosophy, politics ; the leading men and topics ot the day ; the 
works of God in the vast domain of nature — all furnished him with texts 
for new and original sa\ ings, and it was in itself a liberal education to 
be a listener at those nightly symposia. Occasional!)- the peace and 
trancjuilitv of the gathering was disturbed tor a moment by some urchin 
who rushed in to preter a complaint against an offending companion. 
Prompt as the lightning flash came the command. "Arrest Jones and 
bring him here at once." Equally prompt the examination, and swift the 
judgment. The boys departed, the one rejoicing that his rights had been 
vindicated, the other subdued but satisfied that justice impartial had been 
administered. A moment's curious thought on the part of the company 
over the offense and the unique punishment which it had called forth, and 
(■ver\' mind reverted to tlie subject uppermost before the interruption, and 
the intellectual feast continued. 

If a boy were ill and unable to attend to his duties, the tower was 
turned into a hospital, and sitting there in the sunshine, under Mrs. Gunn's 
motherly care and tender nursing, he half forgot his aches and pains, 
or was nearly content to undergo them for the hajipy sense of l:)eing cod- 
dled and cared for which followed in their train. 

Here, too, were given and enjoyed those cozy Sunday evening lunches 
to which at one time or another each boy was admitted. Mr. Gunn's 
love tor ])oetry was native and intense, his power of presenting the writer's 
thought in all its fullness wonderful, and in man\- a soul was stimulated 
the poetic lancy as he listened to the strong rendition of the stirring 
verses of Lowell or Emerson, Longfellow or W'hittier. After those in- 
formal meals Ik- was ver\' apt to pick up a \'ohune of one of his fiworite 
authors, and in man)- an ear still ring the mourntul cadences of his voice 



rUR ffO AfE -LIFE. i i ; 

as he read "I weep for Aclonais. he is dead," or from the noble " Hymn 
to Intellectual Beauty." To larger audiences he read the " Biglow 
Papers," with running comments upon the great events which Lowell 
has so cleverly satirized. 

There was one feature of the family circle rarely absent from those 
gatherings in the tower, whose introduction here deserves a separate 
paragraph. Pug — sleek-coated, black and white, curly-tailed canine of 
uncertain breed and temper — like every animal that came within his 
reach endeared herself to Mr. Gunn's heart, and was part and parcel 




iLuPK ON THE BKINSMADE lAKM. 



of himself for years. Her head, faithfully represented by the artist, long 
hung upon the wall of that tower-room, and in later days has served to 
bring to the mind of him who looks upon it subduing memories of the 
master who loved her and whom she loved. A picture stands out plainly 
on the canvas of the past to-day. Mr. Gunn, stretched out full length in 
that big arm-chair, his head thrown back, his legs straight out before him, 
his massive chest, fit for a model of Hercules, and that little wriggling 
specimen of feminine caninity pattering up and down upon him and kiss- 
ing his forehead, eyes, lips, nose, ears, and beard, with a fervor almost too 
affecting. Suddenly her caresses cease, and with a bound, snap, snarl, 
and vicious bark, she emphasizes her disapproval of the noise with which 
some urchin clatters up the stairs to the rooms above, and in another 
moment she is back again upon her masters knee, ready to chase imagi- 
nary cats and boys, or to catch phantom woodchucks in the realms oi 



1,8 THE MASTER OF --THE GUXXRRYr 

dream-land. Her orii^in has been traced back to a benevolent washer- 
woman of Hibernian extraction ; her market value would be best expressed 
in decimals; but nevertheless she made her way into Mr. Gunn's heart, 
and was, whatever else may be said of her, a component part of the family 
life at the Gunnery. It must have been a touch of that same power 
which enabled Mr. Gunn to accept and love the most disagreeable of boys, 
and cling to him in tenderness after the last hope had disappeared of 
developing gentleness and decency in his nature, which enabled him to 
accept with a fondness that was close to adoration a dog which, by the 
godless youth of that generation, was accounted cross-grained and useless 
beyond her kind. Blessed be thy memory, Pug ! Thou art reverenced 
to-day for that which, though hidden from the common eye, was spread 
before the vision of our friend and master, and it is hoped that in the 
broader fields which th\- presence now illumines some of the ungracious- 
ness which marred th\' earthh' pilgrimage ma\- ha\e fadetl and flown 
lorever. 

Another feature of the famil)- life was the grou].) of donkeys. Never 
was that plodding beast more completely the emblem of patience and oi 
that virtue which provides its own reward than at the Gunnery. The 
original acquisition was nametl baniiw and from her s[M'ang those useful 
if not ornamental animals, ".Scham," named after Schamyl, a noted chief 
of Daghestan, who made some stir in those days, and " Telegraph," so 
called because he first saw the light about the time of the landing of the 
first ocean cable. The monument which those dumb beasts deserve should 
be of enduring brass. They were the delight of every boy, and in many 
an excursion over the hills and through the wooded hollows of old Judea 
they added to the common stock of comfort by their patient jogging 
strength. 

It was the writer's fate to lie present when tliey were found one morn- 
ing in the road below the house, hamstrung, dragging their fileeding 
stumps along behind them, and loading the air with piteous donkey-cries. 
A more fiendish act was never perpetrated in Washington. It was a 
heathenish malignity that could execute u|)on an innocent, tlumb animal 
a revengeful piu'pose against Mr. Gunn. If the man whose hand ijerformed 
that dectl lives to-day and reads these pages, may he (eel airesh the con- 
tempt of all who have associations with the Gunner)-. 

Old White, the horse, who lived a long life of usefulness, and passed 
awa\- full of vears and honor; And)' and I'h-, her progeny, — the one named 
after Major .Anderson, tin other after Gi-neral Grant, — deserve more than 
a passing mention. it nia\ seem queer to the uninitiated that the horses 




and donke\s should be classed as features ul the ^v.J;' 
family life, but such, in fact, they were. They were '^/ ' 
often the first acquaintances a boy made in Washint^non. So thoroughly 
did they consider themselves to be members of the family that it was no 
unusual thing to see them winning their wa)- into the kitchen and 
begging in dumb confidence for the cold pancakt' which they believed 
belonged to them of right. They have been known to look so high 
as to offer their assistance at gatherings in the famil\-room, but there 
the line was drawn and the unwarranted assumption repelled. Mr. 
Gunn was not versed in the art of horsemanship, but he had that 
thorough sympathy with all animals which gave him the power to compel 
their submission, and never were horses more tractable than those which 



,2o THI: MASTER OF -THE GUNNERY:' 

had grown up with him from early colthood. This fondness for animals 
was transferred to the boys, and liird-cages and rabbit-pens, baby wood- 
chucks, and squirrels red and gray, could he found in many a room. Cats 
were omnipresent and prolific, and it was never sate to seat one's self with- 
out an examination, lest the intended chair had been preempted by some 
purring, satisfied kitten. 

The maintenance of animal pets in the household was in keeping with 
the encouragement the boys received from Mr. Gunn to acquire lamiliarity 
with ever}- li\ing tiling and, indeed, with all nature. A tendency to in- 
vestigate nature fre(iuentl\- led the master to be lenient in regard to in- 
attention to the regular school curriculum on the part of a youngster who 
was absorbed in finding out for himself the mysteries of bug and butterfly. 
The study of entomology was one that boys could easily pursue, and Mr. 
Gunn especially encouraged that. A wave of enthusiasm swept through 
the school. Ever)- boy had his collection of moths and butterflies ; his 
arrav of chrysalides, for the breaking of which he eagerly watched ; his 
happy family of larva;, big and little, each kept well-supplied with the 
leaves on which it fed until it retired into cocoon or chrysalis, to await its 
transformation. Long and happy hours were spent in watching every 
motion of these interesting creatures, repulsive or beautiful according to 
the temper of the observer. 

One of the boys secured a great nest ot "apple-tree worms," which he 
deposited in a candy-bo.\ placed in his bureau drawer. The industrious 
crawlers found many avenues ot escape troni their dark and insecure 
prison, and soon spread through the bureau and the room ; and the boy's 
room-mate vows to this day that he made a nightly examination ot his 
bed and removed numbers of unwelcome intruders before retiring. His 
artlor for science was not great enough to endure that degree of 
taniiliarit)' ! 

The picture of the house-life is not complete without the presence of 
Aunt Betsy Parish, the presiding genius of the mending-basket ; she of 
the angular figure, unadorned calico gowns, square-cut features, and a nose 
which was the noblest Roman of tlieni all. The weekly washing was her 
domain. To her kind offices were referred stockings without heels, 
under-clothes of varying consistency, tatters and tears, rips and breaks of 
all kinds and descriptions. To her, as she sat plying her busy needle in 
thi- old towi-r-rooni, migrated cxerxboy whose wearing apparel had come 
to grief through sports by field and flotxl. Her memory is revered by the 
writer, but there lingers a sense ot wrong done somewhere and somehow; 
for into his \oulhtul mind she instilkxl a faith that he was more to her 



77//: // O A/£ - 1. IFE. 1 2 I 

than other boys — nay, more, that his name was actually " writ down " in a 
corner of her memorandum-book ; a distinction awarded to few, and one 
wliich signified that the fortunate boy would be remembered in her last 
will and testament. Time has fled: Aunt Betsy is at rest with many 
another kindly, well-remembered character; but it is presumed that the 
memorandum-book has perished, or that the special leaf containing that 
name has been torn out, for the faith compelled by the old lady's promises 
has long since crumbled into incredulity. 

Aunt Betsy also lives again as the cause of a chilly tramp to Moody 
l)arn, in the deepest winter snow, on the coldest winter night, within the 
writer's recollection. She slept or tried to sleep directly under our quarters 
in the tower, where we occupied the upper story. Late one night we 
improvised a gymnastic exhibition, just before retiring ; but the success of 
the performance was sadly marred by the inopportune arrival of Mr. Gunn, 
who, in addition to sundry more cogent suggestions, advised us that noth- 
ing short of a walk to the well-known Moody barn could cool the extreme 
enthusiasm and high animal spirits which seemed to possess us. Next 
morning it came out that our walk was due to the fact that the good old 
lady had been disturbed in her maiden slumbers by our noise, and we were 
ordered to apologize to her for our thoughtlessness. Those concerned 
will never forget the kindly sparkle that beamed through her spectacles 
as we filed in, one by one, spread a large handkerchief upon the floor at 
her feet, and, kneeling thereon, begged her pardon in deep humility. 

As the school grew it became necessary that Mr. Gunn should have 
assistants in his teaching, and as many of the boys were very small and of 
tender years, he wisely chose young ladies for that inu'pose. They became 
inmates of the family, and from association with them the boys derived 
much benefit. Many of us were at the rudest and most uncultivated stage 
of boyhood, lacking the graces which society brings, and constant contact 
with grown-u]) girls of refinement and strong character did much to 
smooth away the rough corners and produce that polish without which 
the brightest intellect is handicapped in the race of life. 

To this end also the Friday night receptions furnished material aid, — 
receptions which have been well described elsewhere,* and will only 
receive here a passing allusion. ( )n that e\ening for many years all the 

* Besides the reminiscences included in Uiis volume, a nurabei- of incidents connected with Mr. 
C;utin's peculiar, ingenious and effective code of discipline are chronicled in W. Hamilton Gibson's 
"Pastoral Days," the author finding in Wasliington his originals for ''Snug Hamlet," " Mr. Snug," 
and "The Snuggery " school. 

In Dr. J. G. Holland's '-.Arthur Bonnicastle," also, some of the teatures of (lunnery life are de- 
scribed uith a fidelity that left no Gunnery l)oy in doubt as to the idenlit\ in real life of" Mr. Bird," 
l6 



122 THE MASTER OF '-THE GUXXERVr 

residents of the town were invited to the Gunnery and cordialh' welcomed. 
The rooms w^ere brightened with such decoration as the fields and woods 
afforded ; simple refreshments were prepared ; the bo\'s arrayed themselves 
in their best apparel, and an informal social evening- was thoroughly enjoyed. 
Frequently an impromptu charade would be given, or a short drama, — and 
the acting was far above the average of amati-urs. 

Perhaps at no point was the genius of Mr. (iunn more fully re\-ealed 
than in the uniiiue famil_\- gathering, kept up to this daw and familiar 
to every Cjunner}' 1)0\' as the " family meeting." After dinner each 
Sunda\' afternoon the wliole famil_\-, except the servants, gathered to- 
gether, in summer under tin- vine-clad porch on the south side of the 
Gunnery, in winter within the large sitting-room. This conclave was 
the grand trilnmal of the household, with the master for chief judge. 
To its arbitration were suljinitted an\- irregularit\' of the week before, or. 
indeed, any subject relating to domestic order or plans. The boys under- 
stood that this was the time to ]jrefer complaints, to expose any lurking- 
iniquity, or ask open advice. Many were the secret offenses disclosed, 
many the wrongs righted and just jjenalties imposed I.))- this novel tribunal, 
which cen-iented a confidence between teacher and |)upil \er\- efficient in 
the general discipline of the school. The chief judge after rendering his 
decision often asked a show of hands, and if any boy dissented, his objec- 
tion was asked for and sometimes allowed. .Special sessions of the family 
meeting called to pass upon grave oftenses now antl then resLdtetl in the 
pui-iishment of the whoh; famil\- of bo\-s, either b_\- the curtailment of 
|)rivilege or the infiiction of positive penalty. At these original gather- 
ings the genius of the master was on wings. Sitting in his chair before 
his boy constituenc)-, his glancing eye swept up and down the long line of 
lads seen-iing fairl\- to screw out the inmost secrets of their hearts. Callous 
the g-uilt\- N'oungster wlm did not (|uail undvr the ordeal and sharji the 
punishi-nent that followed tlie "you're h'ing, sir! " with which the teacher's 
cross-examination now and then ended. If no serious matter was at issue, 

whose school was called "The Bird's Nest." The Re\'. Henry Ward Beecher, in his letters to Tlic 
fndcpcndcnt, and Clarence DeminL;, in his correspondence with The Eveniiii:; I'ost, have likewise 
found in the Gunnery n-iaterial for ver\' charming and interesting pictures of a unii|ue ]5hasc of boy 
life. 

It may be said licre lint '■ TIil- < lunnery '' ha^, not alw.iys been known b\ that name. For 
many years, including, indeed, the period when most of the contributors to this volume were under 
its roof, it was known simply .is " Mr. (Uuin's School." '-'J-he (".unnery" «as a term used at first 
by the boys facetiously, which w'as so oljviously felicitous as to be generally accepted, and in the end 
officially adopted. But that we all — of whatever " period" — now use the term familiarly and un- 
consciously, is only an illustration of the close touch we have kept with our .'\Im.i Mater since we 
left her fostering care. 




( 



Gunn never failed to light 
up the family meeting with 
sparks of humor that kept the 
whole household in a bubble of 
lauyhter ; and his code ot odd 
/ punishments for small sinsfound 

ample scope in the judgments of 
this funny court. Under his ad- 
ministration this famiK" council Ijecame a benign inquisition tor eradicating 
school \ices, stimulating confidence between the household and its head, 
enforcing a sense of justice among bo\s, and promoting the general order 
and well-being of the school family. 

The grove souili of the house was a very important factor in the home- 
life. Under its spreading chestnut-trees the boys were wont to walk and 
rehearse their parts for dramas and declamation, or grind into their mem- 
ories pages of the books which they were stuilying. Under its tallen leaves 
they searched for the hiding chestnut in the autumn, and played at 
prisoner's base with the gnarled old trunks for goals. Upon its dry moss 
they rolled up in their blankets on warm summer nights and slept the 
sleep of unthinking boyhood, lulled In the music of the wind among 



, ^ , /■///■; AfAsr/iA' OF ■■riiE c, rxxRRvr 

its hranclu-s, ^uardcil 1)\- the smtiin'l stars in its canopy ahcnx'. It was 
there tliat in the season the merry corn-roasts were lield. The fire was 
heaped hi,i;h with dead hnihs, and cast its fiickerin^^- liuhts and shadows 
far into the s^loom. Music made the feet tini^lt-, and, witli an abandon 
npon which in cahner years one looks back with env\', we cut original 
pigeon-wings and danced and capered through the X'irginia Reel or 
Money Musk. While the tlancing went on the ears of green-corn changed 
into a crisp, kiscious Ijrown, and the entire comisany, sitting in groups 
about the lire, ate until appetites, sharpened to an edge l)y that keen 
Judean air, were appetites no longer. 

Mr. (iunn's fondness for nature and faith in her power as an educator 
induced him to permit occasionally the "school-walk," which at last grew 
into a permanent institution. A particularly Ijright and lovel)- spring day, 
or one of those rich mellow mornings only found in a New England 
October, would call to mind the expected walk, and a family meeting- 
would settle upon its propriety. Mrs. Gunn, with the small boys and the 
luncheon stowed away in the large carriage, followed the nearest high- 
way to the place of destination, while the rest of us, with " Pater" Gunn 
in the lead, trudged away over the fields and through the woods, coming 
upon many a fair scene never liefore discovered, and reaching finally 
some vantage ground from which the bold outlines ol the judean hills 
unfolded before our vision. 

On these tramjjs those who were fortunate enough to keep close to 
Mr. (junn were tilleel with information about bird and animal, tree and 
flower. The name and purpose of every natural ol)Ject, th(/ habits and 
haunts of every living thing seemed stored away in his mind and always at 
his command, and he loved especial!)- to help his boys on to soniething 
of the san-ie knowleilge. .\ bird's egg found by soi-iie sharp-eyed young- 
ster, and borne up to Mr. Gunn in triumph, would call forth a chapter 
upon ornithology; and thus we all grew into closer relations with nature 
and her ways. Happy memories of out-door life ! Througli it we all 
oained that fondness for nature and sturd\- ph\sit|ue wliich in varying 
deoree are the jxissession of ever\ ( luniiery bo\ . 

Our experience in all those yearly outings, slee[)ing siile by sidt' in the 
pure? air, listening to the murmuring breezes and the rippling waters, 
bound us thi; closer to one another and to our master, and fastened bej'ond 
unloosing the cord which (if followed) leads us all directly back to the 
center of our \-oung li\-es together in old Juilea. 

Mr. Giunn was not what an orthodox deacon ol the old school wouUl 
call a professor of religion, and \ct he was an intensely religi(.)us nian. 



THE HOME- LIFE. ,25 

His early experience, and indeed the trend of his character, were such that 
he could have little sympathy for iron-bound creeds; but his love for his 
fellow-man and for Ciod's handiwork, the world and all that is therein, 
was so forceful that he was led close to the heart of his Maker. He 
abhorred the cant antl hypocrisy which occasional disciples have allowed to 
grow like barnacles upon the hull of their belief and never hesitated to 
denounce them in unmeasured terms. Through a study of nature he led 
his boys in the path he himself had followed uj) to nature's God, and 
taught them to look for the beautiful lessons to be; found in the leaf and 
brook and wayside flower. 

He sometimes craved the soothing influence of solitary communion with 
nature. He was subject to periods of despondency, and at such times was 
filled with a fear that his life was a failure ; that he was not helping his fel- 
lows as he should ; that his influence was shorn, and that there was nothing 
worth living for. When most depressed he would disappear for the day, 
and wander about among his favorite haunts in the fields and woods. In 
these tramps he would invariably come around to a certain tulip-tree, and 
as he saw how braveK' and unostentatiously it went on from year to year, 
accomplishing its task and bringing forth in due time its blossoms, he would 
gain a new inspiratitm, and return home refreshed and ready with renewed 
vigor to fight out his appointed task to the end. 

There was one window in the house looking toward the west, and 
almost against its panes a large apricot-tree lowered its branches. Mr. 
Gunn had a habit of hanging bits of chicken-bones upon the twigs for the 
birds that twittered about the house. The birds soon came to recognize 
the bounty of their friend, and all day long the chickadees and sparrows 
chirped and fluttered without fear among the branches. At the time of 
nest-building Mrs. Gunn would cut up stocking- yarn into short lengths 
and hang them upon the tree, and the little birds with a chirp of thankful- 
ness seized upon them to furnish the homes they were providing for their 
mates. 

Sunday was made as sunny for the boys as was consistent with pnljlic 
proprieties. The scholars had to attend one session of church and also 
Sunday-school. It needed more than a poor excuse to enable a boy to 
avoid the rather longish Sunda)- morning sermon witli which the parson 
was wont to edify his flock. 

Many will remember a certain boy, then a mere stripling, whose father 
preached so well that it almost furnished the son with an excuse for avoid- 
ing other men's ministrations. He was remarkable for the facility with 
which he invented reasons for staying at home on .Sunday mornings, and 



126 THE MASTER OF -THE GUXXE KVr 

among others was the mysterious loss ot his shoes. The excuse passeel 
muster once, but when a second time the same shoes were conveniently 
missing-, Mr. ( iunn sent tor him to come to the tower, and he soon appeared 
in his stocking-teet. One lightning-like glance Mr. (iunn gave him, and 
then e.xclaimed, "Pull oft those stockings, sir; take the blacking-brush, 
give your feet a thorough polishing, and start for church at once, — go, 
sir!" It is needless to add that the lost shoes miraculousl)' appeared. 

.\fter the church services and dinner followed the famil_\- meeting, more 
or less brief; and after that, the customary Sunday letter home hav- 
ing been written by each ot the boys, they were free to wander at will 
over the hills, the only restriction being that their manner should be de- 
corous and quiet — such as befitted the rest and peace of a New England 
.Sabbath. 

-Such, very imperfectly sketched, is the picture of home-life at the 
Gunnery in the olden times. No hand can ever do it justice ; no pen can 
ever catch and retain the subtle aroma of that iileal New England school 
home. The aroma was there, however, ami still lingers about the lives 
ot all who were admitted within its intluence. 

We end where we began, with this, that one of the truest things that 
can be said about Mr. Cnmn, and one for which his life will be chiefly 
remembered, is that he gave to man\ a 1)0\- what the parents tound to l)c 
be)-ond their resources, — a home, built u|jon an e.xhaustive love and tender 
sympathy, and governed by a generous freedom tempered by fatherly 
justice. 



\'I1 



Lasi- Days and Last Rites 




A: 



;LL readers of "Tom Brown at Rui^hy" remem- 
ber that pathetic scene at its close in which 
the \outhful hero of the story — type of the 
.manh", erring, human school-boy, in a tale 
almost too real to seem like fiction — learned of the 
death of Dr. Arnold, the Master of Rugby. Thought- 
less, careless, self-centered though he had always been 
the blow unnerved him, and the revelation it brought him 
of his own love and reverence for his best friend, never realized beiore, so- 
bered and saddened him. In the recreations and jollities of his companions 
he no longer had a part; his college vacation was spoiled ; and, his spirit 
grown solemn in the tender illumination of a great grief, he sought the 
deserted quadrangle of Rugby, and at the tomb of the master consecrated his 
life to better things. The consecration was destined not to be fulfilled with- 
out many missteps : but his bereavement marked the beginning of his 
battle w^ith himself, and he began worthily the conquest of his own soul. 
The death of Mr. Gunn in 1881 was in many ways and in many 
instances a parallel to the story we have recalled. There were, happil)-, 
but few of the Gunnery pupils who were called upon to suffer, as Tom 
Brown did, the remorse of realizing how little the\ had valued the wealth 
of affection that had been bestowed on them; for Mr. Gunn's nature was 
so outspoken that none of us were ignorant of his deepest feelings toward 
us, and the frankness of his expression of them prompted each heart to 
respond in its own measure. If there was a responsive chord, the love of 
the master found it. But, be_\ond the few whose good fortune brought 
them frequently to Washington, there were not many who knew of Mr. 
Gunn's gradual failing and his final illness until the news of his death 
involved all in a common grief. Then came back all the memories, of which 
this book is the grateful record, and we dropped pleasures, business, and 



,28 THE .VASTER OF -THE GLXXERVr 

all other duties, to make our pilgrimage to his grave, to testify of our love, and 
to consecrate ourselves once more to such a life as he had taught us to live. 

It was not easy to associate Mr. (ninn witli the idea oi death. He 
had been to us the very embodiment of manl)- strength and physical 
vigor: and if we did see him grow old, it was into a hale and hearty 
a^^e that he seemed to glide. We still thought of his splendid form 
as on the ball-field, on the mountain tramp, and at work in the field, 
not bent with )ears, but erect and well-preserved, and recalled the 
characteristic, determined, impatient shake of his leonine head as he 
pressed through all obstacles to accomplishment. When we saw him 
in these later days, most of us grown men, he was enjoying that great- 
est happiness of the faithful teacher, the tribute of his grateful and 
appreciative inipils. It was no uncommon thing to see him with a 
lapful of fathers of families, unrestrained by the conventionalities of any 
world but the unique world of W'ashington, talking over the old days, 
perhaps learning for the first time the secret histor\- of celebrated 
escapades, mingling mirth and sentiment, laughter and tears. We laid 
at his feet in those days every tribute he could have desired, and the 
ha|)|)iness of knowing that his faithful love had inspired and won that 
of his boys was given him without limit. 

Mr. Gunn was spared the pain of long illness as well as the greater 
pain, to a proud and sensitive man, of an interval between useful activ- 
it\- and death. He died, as he would have chosen, in the harness. He 
continued his classes up to the close of the summer term, and then 
slowly sank away painlessly to sleep. It is true he had withdrawn 
from some of the more exacting duties of the teacher when, a few 
vears before, he received into his famil)- and l)rought into his school 
so competent an assistant as his son-in-law, Mr. John C. Brinsmade. 
He was relieved of discipline and kept in ignorance of the countless 
pett)- annoyances inseparable from a huge family — especially a household 
of unrelated school urchins, the guidance of whom in peaceful and harmo- 
nious existence under one roof is a task as exacting as the organization 
of all the antagonistic animals into a " Happy Family." For a year or 
two l)efore his death Mr. Gunn had suffered from trouble with his heart, 
which more than once forcetl him to go to Florida and elsewhere ior rest 
and recuperation. .Soon after the close of the school term in the summer 
of i.SSi the imperfect action of the heart liecame more marked, and in a 
few weeks it was evident that the organ could no longer send nour- 
ishing blood through the system, and that a fatal termination was to be 
exi)ecte(l before long. These tidings were sent to such of the old |)upils 



LAST DAYS AND LAST RLTES. 



I 29 



as could be reached, and many hastened to Washington in the hope of 
once more seeing their beloved master alive. There is nothing more 
pathetic in the history of friendship than some of those meetings. 
Already doomed to go, and realizing his situation, but yet able to sit on 
the little porch by the Tower, Mr. Gunn received his visitors at no bed- 
side, but in the open air and in the light of the summer day. The 
impaired action of the heart at intervals failed to keep the brain awake, 
and he frequenth' tiozed, unconscious of what was going on about him. 
Whether or not he dreamed of the past at such times, he frequently 
roused himself with a quiet laugh and recalled some striking scene of 
other days, with such gentle, affectionate comment, that we were forced to 
smile through our tears and to weep as we smiled. Here was a dying 
man, going with sincere and unaffected solemnity into the presence of his 
Maker, yet his solicitude was that we might not grieve too much, and his 
happiness was found in recalling the days in which he had gained our love 
and had given us his own. The essential Christianity of the man was 
made manifest by that brave, calm, trustful descent into the Valley of the 
Shadow of Death. 

We went our ways, and waited. Soon came the dreaded but expected 
word, and we prepared for the final privilege of showing our love and 
respect. Mr. Gunn died on August i6th. He had been favored to the last. 
No distressing death had been allotted to him, not even a few hours' con- 
finement to his bed ; but, sitting in his favorite chair, without pain and with- 
out a struggle, he instantly passed away. 

The funeral of Mr. Gunn was simple and beautiful — as he would have 
wished it. The conventional funereal accompaniments, which seem fitly to 
lead only to the grave, were discarded. We wanted to think we were 
taking our very friend to the gate of heaven, rather than his body to the 
tomb. No dark, unsightly coffin, but a plain oaken casket; no stately 
hearse to bear it, but the old familiar body-wagon in which he had so 
often ridden, enwreathed with vines and drawn by his own white horses 
slowly up the hill from the Gunnery to the church. There was only a 
prayer at the Gunnery, in the presence of the family friends gathered 
about the Tower room where he lay, and the boys — we were all "boys" 
then, young and old — on the long piazza. Then seven old pupils bore 
the precious burden out; and mourners and friends — all mourners and all 
friends — we filed slowly after; and while the Gunnery bell announced the 
last departure of its master, the answering bell from the church on the 
Green responded. 
17 



, oQ THE MASTER OF ''THE GUNNERY." 

The church was filled; prominent citizens from all parts of Litchfield 
County were there to do him honor. How strange it must have seemed 
to those wlio remembered the young man's struggles for mere recognition 
as an honest, free-minded man ! It was said that the attendance was lim- 
ited only by the number of carriages available to bring the people. Ferns, 
mosses, golden-rod, and clematis — he taught us their names and showed 
us their beauties — adorned the little church as though for a wedding, and 
no set floral piece marred their natural grace. There was a hymn by the 
choir, "Fading, still fading," — " Our Inmn " Mr. Gunn alwa\-s called it, 
for it was sung at his wedding in the twilight ; and the gifted young- 
minister, whose hands were so efficiently upheld by Mr. Gunn during his 
Washington pastorate, and who has since gone to his own reward, spoke 
a few appreciative words. It was evidently no pertunctor)- service to the 
Rev. Mr. Thrall, but his words were a personal tribute to a personal 
friend. Referring to Mr. Gunn's lifelong abstention from church member- 
ship, after eulogizing his character, he added in substance: " I would that 
all this might have been poured through the channels of the church. It 
was not. Vet there has been no truer friend of this church, no stronger 
upholder of its work and its services, than he. We all know wh\- he never 
became an outward member of tliis church ; and although he never did, I 
do not hesitate to say he was a Christian — a better Christian than I am." 

justice at last, in the former citadel of injustice and calumny ! But Mr. 
Gunn's friends saw in this not onl)' reparation to him, but the promise of 
a new heaven on a new earth, where such Christians as he had been 
should not be cast out. Mr. Gunn had lived until new times had come in 
the religious world, and, like Moses of old, he was permitted to look over 
into the land toward which he had helped to lead his generation. 

Api-iropriate ser\ices concludetl in the church, the long procession once 
more moved across the Green, and brought the l^ody ot the master to the 
peaceful corner in the cemetery- on the hill, which IkkI l)een in his loving- 
keeping for so long. When, many years before, he had laid there his 
only son. Dannie, Mr. Gunn felt that a part of his very self was covered by 
thai earth ; and in cv ery way possible he had beautified the spot so sacred 
to him. .\ tew more wortls were saiti, a h\-mn was sung, and the father 
was laid beside thi; son : the husband was hidden from the eyes of the 
doubly berea\ed wife ; and the beloved master was surrendered In' the 
hands of his reverent pupils to the custody of the faithful soil. It was a 
memorable scene b\' the side of that gra\e. Men wept like children, and 
famil)-, frientls, pupils, lu-ighbors, townsmen, alike gave evidence of the 
personal bereavement that had come to tlieni in this good nian's death. 



LAST DAYS AND LAST RLTES. 131 

All through these services the rain was fallint^; but no manifestation 
of nature could ever seem unwelcome or inharmonious in connection with 
Mr. Gunn, who was nature's own and worth)- son. No one re<^retted the 
rain, and tlie sunshine would have seemed equally appropriate. It was 
such a g^entle, beneficent rain ; and the parched earth so needed it that 
we felt that it was as he would have had it. 

Again we separat(;d, but not liefore we had spoken together of a 
further meeting as (junnery pupils ; no longer to greet, or cheer, or soothe 
our suft'ering friend, — his tlays of weakness were past, and the victory over 
death was his, — but fitly to commemorate his virtues and his strength. 
Within a few weeks after the funeral, a largely attended meeting was held 
at the .St. Nicholas Hotel in New-Vork, where the Gunn Memorial 
Association was formed, for the double purpose of giving shape and 
direction to the common interests of all who had lieen pupils of Mr. Gunn, 
and of erecting a suitable monument and preparing a memorial volume. 
There were at this meeting representatives not only of the new and 
fanious "Gunnery," but also of the humble school he had started at 
Towanda, Pennsylvania, when driven from his own town by cruel pro- 
slavery persecution. The committees appointed for the various parts of 
the work received prompt encouragement from the liberal subscriptions 
on the evening of the first meeting, and their further labors were so 
prospered that it was possible to select early dates for the erection and 
unveiling of the monument. 

The stone was placed in position during the snmmer of 1882, and it 
was originally intended to unveil it on the first anniversary ot Mr. Gunn's 
death, in August; but, in order to secure the attendance of some who 
were to take part, the exercises were postponed to October 4th, Mr. 
Gunn's birthday. For these ceremonies there was a large gathering in 
Washington of friends and former pupils, most of whom were received at 
the always hospitable Gunnery. Many of them arrived on the day before 
the exercises, and that evening there was one of those informal general 
assemblings in the grove back of the Gunnery which were perhaps the 
most notably characteristic affairs of the Washington outdoor life. It 
was a bold experiment, to make our reunion in the grove without Mr. 
Gunn! No spot was more closely identified with his memory, and in no 
place or manner could we more surely have tested our ability to meet and 
rejoice that we had known him rather than lament that we had lost him. 
But we were led by that calm, brave spirit, the serene and faithful executor 
of her husliand's wishes; and she knew that Mr. Gunn would liave pre- 



I -,2 THE MASTER OF -THE GUNNERY.'' 

ferred everything to be done as though he were with us. So we had the old 
familiar bonfire, heaped high among the trees, and while the older ones talked 
in groups, the youngsters amused themselves in the good old way. Some one 
timidly projiosed a dance — that had always been a part of a grove party. 
.Mrs. (iunn did not hesitate long in deciding; the spirit of Mr. Gunn \vas 
there, and that said, Yes ; so Mrs. Gunn said Yes, and the shadowy figures 
were soon moving rythmically about in the weird light under the illumi- 
nated arch of the branches. The onlookers sat and wondered, not at the 
levity of this, for it impressed no one as inappropriate, but at the strange 
spectacle of a celebration like this of a departed friend, which yet seemed 
to all so eminently fit and in keeping. It was a fresh tribute to Mr. Gunn, 
and a new evidence of his continuing influence, that we should thus 
commemorate him. 

Monument I)a)tlawned bright and beautiful. The hea\ens and the 
teeming earth put on their most attractive guise tor the celebration. The 
church was decorated with branches of autumn leaves and wild flowers, 
and the throng in attendance more than filled the comfortable capacity 
of the building. .Senator Piatt, the President of the Association, presided. 
The Washington church choir and a quartette from the Mendelssohn Glee 
Club of New-N'ork sang at ai)propriate intervals ; the Rev. (jeorge .S. 
Thrall, whose grateful tribute to Mr. (junn's efficient aid to the work of 
the church has been alluded to, offered prayer ; and several of the former 
pupils of the Gunnery made remarks, the direction ot which is suf- 
ficiently indicated by the following extracts Irom the sjx-cch of Mr. 
Clarence Deming: 

" 1 remember in the Greek readings of college days a phrase of Homer, 
which could almost e.\actly be translated into the English words, 'sweet 
regret.' It referred, as I recall it, to the meeting ot two bands ot Greeks, who, 
after a long separation, after privation and peril, after man\- had fallen hy the 
way, were reunited, mourning tlieir lost comrades, even in the hapi)y moment 
which brought the survivors together. If there is any sentiment that fits this 
day and place it seems to be that old (ireek phrase, 'sweet regret.' The 
rose and cypress to-ela)' blend their garlands, and )o\- comes a close com- 
rade to sorrow. The jocund Past flits b\' loaded with memories of old 
tlelights on these' sim-l)athed hills; the somber Present, on the other hand, 
reminds us grimly that those same delights have gone, and gone forever. 
Washington seems outwardly still the same ; but it is a Washington from 
which wt- have drifted tar awaw its l)eacon lights fading, as we pass from 
the (juick pulse-throbs ot youth into seilate manhood, luen in that 
s|)eci;d and p;u'ticular trilnitc b\ which, this afternoon, we record our 



LAST DAYS AND LAST R/TLS. 



13: 



tender affection for the old master, the same phrase, 'sweet regret,' finds 
its place. He has gone, but not too soon to infuse his life-work into ours. 
The death for which we grieve is also a jo)ful and hallowing reminder 
that our lives were, for a while, allowed to run parallel with his, and that 
we received the stimulus of his gracious impulse and example. 

" More than a year has now gone by since we gathered to lay our old 
master at rest yonder on the hillside, overlooking the fair valley, the far 
hills, and the gleaming river which in life he so much loved. .Since then 
we have passed out of the near shadow of our bereavement, and, I think, 
reached a point of view from which we see the bold outlines of Mr. (iunn's 
nature more clearly defined, and the strong personality of the man more 
lucidly portrayed. As we look back and scan one by one the qualities 
which made up in him a life as original as it was noble, what impresses 
me more than all else is, not so much our teacher's upright living, his 
heroic devotion to principle, his contempt for sham, his utter detestation 
of all that was mean and unmanl)-, but rather his singular genius for 
adapting to boy-training what I may call external accessories. Away 
from and outside of all the commonplace formulas of the school, Mr. Cnmn 
built up a system of education which penetrated the whole social and 
physical life of the boy. Mere scholastic culture was, with him, secondary 
to self-reliance, pure morals, manhood, and that human quality expressed by 
what I conceive to be almost the strongest word in the English language, 
character. He employed in the construction of this grand and supreme 
quality e.xpedients and motives which the ordinary teacher either over- 
looks or despises. We smile, no doubt, at some of the odd methods that 
he used — at the old famil)- meeting, the master's queer code of penalties, 
his lenienc}- for what many instructors would call serious offenses, his severe 
punishment of what some teachers would scarcely call offenses at all. But 
under the whole system ran the teacher's keen instinct, adapting means 
to an end. Take, for instance, the sports of the field which he almost 
enforced as part of the ("junner\- scheme of education. I presume we all 
know well enough that Mr. dunn had plenty of the I)o\- in him to relish 
the athletic games in which he rivaled the most ardent of us. But uncler- 
lying it all was his shrewd perception that those sports gave us nerve and 
|jluck and self-reliance. There was something that smacked of the old 
-Spartan in the firm conviction he had that phvsical discipline led u]j to 
manful traits of character 

"We should be ungrateful to the kindly presence here of our Washing- 
ton friends if we failed to emphasize the gracious influence which this vil- 
lage has e.xerted in making;" the Gunnerv what it was and what it is. Man\- 



134 



THE MASl^F.R OF ''THE GUXXERV." 



of us have had experience of New England communities, and not a few 
were born and reared in tliis county or State ; and I am sure that when 
we measure diffused intelHgence, temperance, harmony, purity, and that 
rarest of traits among Yanlcee farmers, hospitaHty, wc must concede that 
tliis \illage stands without peer or rivaL We recall, too, how strongly the 
sympathy and sweetness of the social life of the town was reflected upon 
the (hinnery. The two have been one and indivisible, each forming the 
other, and interchanging qualities for the common good of both. Indeed, 
glancing ])ack, it is hard to say where the Gunnery ended and Washington 
began. If I were to be called upon to name three forces — the trinity of 
forces — which developed here our school and its unique and loving life, 
they would be Mr. Gunn, Mrs. Gunn, and Washington. 

"There was one side to the character of our old teacher to which I refer 
with delicac) and with some fear of giving offense, but in justice to him it 
must not i.)e omitted from any analysis of his traits. I mean the religious 
side of his nature. Mr. Gunn was not a formally religious man. He 
belonged, I think, \.o no ecclesiastical society, certainly he rendered open 
allegiance to no sect. \'et how that strenuous and exemplary life of his 
shames the daily record of man)- men whom the world calls religious ! 
How luminously it contrasts with the visil:)le lives of some people, whom, 
too often, we find with gooei church standing in these communities arciund 
us ; with the class of people, for example, who accept religion for a badge 
of conceit, and go about self-suffused with their own odor of sanctity ; or, 
that other class, with miasmatic consciences, whose religion is all austerity 
and woe, who fear God rather than love him ; or that familiar class of 
village Calvins who can hair-split a doctrine, but who may be trusted 
every time to put the topmost cent on a pound of butter. I say these 
things with irreverence, not for genuine piety, but for those hoi)- hypocri- 
sies of which Mr. Gunn's character was so living and so scathing a rebuke. 
And if as most of us conceive, a Superior Power guides events to moral 
and di\-ine ends, how unerringl)- our old teacher's life |)oints to something 
l.)e)ond niortalit)- ! I'^or one, I lo\-e to think of that life so suffusctl with 
humanity, so heroic in its hatred of wrong, so radiant with the religion of 
good things done, as something which stretches far back past the conten- 
tions of sects, the clash of doctrines, and the dogn-ias of the schools, to 
those simple words of the Master: ' b'ollow me.' " 

The exercises at the church were concludeii with reniarks b\- the Rev. 
Henry Ward Beecher. " I could do no less ! " he exclaimed, when Senator 
Piatt announced that he hatl consented to speak of the life and character of 
Mr. Gunn. " M\- own sons haxe ])een his [jupils ; aiitl, although I ani their 



LAST DAYS AND LAST RLTES. 



135 



father, he again in many respects was the father of their consciences. To 
refuse to be present and add some words here to-day, would have seemed 
to me unnatural. 

"I con>;"ratulate you; you are a community rich, not in silver nor in 
gold, but in that which is far more precious, and which silver and gold can- 
not buy. Henceforth, and for generations, no man of intelligence visiting 
this beautiful hill-top will fail to ask for the monument which we unveil 
to-day; for, as on the \illage green the church spire points heavenward 
above other roofs, so on that lovely hill-top his monument will be the 
spire and point upward to God, to Heaven, and to Rest. I could not but 
feel, when the morning broke over the hills, that God was before us, and 
had sent his heralds to cleanse the sky, and intended the very air we 
breathe to stir more purely and sweetly on such a day as this. An October 
day, — ripe, rich, clear, and beautiful ! In such a day he was born. If you 
think of the year and its changes, June is the month that bursts out from 
the gates of heaven, with all that is youngest, and clothed with that which 
is the most tender and beautiful ; and October is the month that goes back 
to heaven and to rest — is nearest to our Creator and to the glories that 
await us. And just to think that in such a month as this a man should be 
born whose life was, I had almost said, the union of June and October! It 
held the tenderness, the freshness, and the valor of youth of the one, and 
the amplitude and clarity of the other. 

" It gives me great satisfaction to attend these services, funereal I will 
not say, but memorial, in a church without a particle of crape anywhere, 
with not one shred of black or any of those signs of grief which men 
almost feel bound by pride and duty to wear. I regard the prevalent 
customs of Christian men in mourning the departure of those who have 
gone before as a Paganism that would have put the Pagans themselves 
to shame. Death is a coronation ! Tho.se who have sent heavenward 
their treasures should follow them with upturned faces, and should even 
hallow with smiles and resignation that which is to relieve them from this 
life of earthl) sorrow. He has gone into the glories of the Father's King- 
dom, leaving poverty and becoming rich ; leaving suffering, sicknes.s, and 
the weakness of the flesh for that life which is destined for those that die in 
Christ. I was not present at his actual burial, but this day too is closel)- 
connected with that small hallowed spot which we call his grave; and I 
congratulate you that we stand in a church, in a church in New England, 
a church in Connecticut (where I was born and largely brought up), to see 
the celebration of death under bright colors. All October has been rifled 
to bring here these lirilliant hues bv which nature teaches us that we 



136 THE ^r ASTER OP -THF. GEXXKRVr 

become mure beautitul as we come nearer to heaven, and that death is 
its pearly gate. The great blossoms in his life were so white that even 
to the last days of his life there was no sign of drying up. The sap felt 
cold, and the roots gave out, but he blossomed to the very end. 

"Now in joyful remembrance of him these gems of nature have been 
brought here ; and are they not eminenth' befitting his character, his tastes, 
and his habits? Was there anything in heaven al>ove, or in the great 
atmosphere ot the skies, that he did not love .■' Why, the very clouds and 
the raging storms were poems to him. Was there anything on the face 
of the earth that his heart did not go out to in the spirit of Christianity, 
with s\mpathy or with admiration ? God's handiwork was art to him, 
and he was both poet and artist, not \)\ creation, but fiy that intense sym- 
path)" which he had in all that constitutes art and poetr_\'. Was there a 
thing that swam the sea or the river, or anything that flew in the air, was 
there anything that belonged under ground, or was there anything that 
lived above it, that Mr. Gunn had not a heart for .^ Methinks his very 
dust feels the roots that grow over him, and that he is still in communion 
with nature tlirough that which is perishal.>le, and which has been given 
back to the earth again. Born here, remaining here, beginning his simple 
work without ostensible ambition, with only that hope which comes from 
aspiration, or lo\ing to do that which is better or best; never at rest, he 
stood here a school-man, and b)- a life of perse\'erance he has made )'our 
place illustrious in the annals of Xew England. Boys from other schools 
in Great Britain and elsewhere have turned aside from their great cathe- 
drals to look at the place where Arnold was born, and died ; and henceforth 
here will lie the history ot this lite. This is the one simple spcjt that per- 
sons will come to see — the 'Gunnery' that bears his name, the place 
where his ilust lies. 

" In all the history of monument-building, I know not one event more 
touching than that we celelirate to-day. Kings die and monuments are 
built for them; but lhe\- are l)uilt out of the pul)lic treasury, and the 
Iniilders call for any amount the\- need. .So they commemorate the illus- 
trious, so they celebrate the dead among bishops, archbisliops, kings and 
princes. We not so. No legislature has contributed to raise this shaft ; 
the great political worUl has not voted to raise some memorial to a party 
hero. The xoung have turned tlieir hearts to gold, and have built a 
monument to their master. When a man has tlone that which is a serv- 
ice to his time and a monument is reared to his memory, it stantls as 
interpr(^ter, as a souvenir and suggester, ami thousands in time to 
come will look and incjuire who this is that sleeps here, and whose 



LAST DAYS AND LAST RITES. j-.- 

name is gravL-n in the imperishable stone. And the stor\- of his life will 
be told to them, and many and many a worthy child will catch an inspira- 
tion from it. Beini;- dead, not onl\' will he speak, but tlie very stones will 
cry out and speak in his behalf 

" We had here a school-master — a real one. He was fore-ordained 
from all eternity to be a good school-master. I do not know that there 
is anything on earth that is more noble than that. When CJod means to 
send a guardian spirit for a child into life he gives it to woman, to mother 
this prince or princess, and int(.) her hand he commits the choicest trusts 
that are known, as being worthy to care for them. The mother is the 
highest teacher; and the discipline, the conscience, the regard and the 
lenity of the mother, represent the type of divine government more nearly 
than anything we have on earth, or shall ever ha\e. We cannot draw our 
notions ot divine government from kings and laws, which must necessarily 
be but very crude instruments, and certainly are not fit to be for us the 
representatives of divine control. The household, — the father and the 
mother, — they are the only types from which we can learn anything of 
love; parental government is divine nature. It is the parent who stands 
at the toot of the cross; and ne.xt to him who has made atonement for all 
the world, the parent is a perpetual atonement for the child ; who lives 
that the child may live, whose body feels, and whose heart seeks his well- 
being ; — this is what it is to be a mother in the true sense. And if there 
be one who unites in himself all the stalwart qualities of a true manhood 
and motherhood, you have all that which makes the perfect teacher. 

" Far be it from me to say that Mr. Gunn was a man without a flaw; if 
he had been perfect he would not have been a man. He was a man, 
worthy of the life he led, and carried his burdens and his faults ; but, never- 
theless, he united in himself the mother and the father in the shape of a 
school-master, so that he safely took the child from the mother's lap at 
home to carry it on into the world. For the most perilous part of a child's 
life is that in which he is uncertain himself whether he is child or man, 
that period in which the swelling passions are not yet understood or con- 
trolled by the development ot the moral sense; and if you can carrj- a 
child safely through from the age of twelve to twenty-one, — the hell- 
gate of life, — he is safe. And Mr. Gunn's was the nature that could take 
children up into his arms and carry them bv his methods safely through 
the perilous period, setting them the example ot a solid man, a man of 
faith, of intellect and manhood. He interested them and induced them to 
come to him for advice. He knew not what it was to make irresistible 
and unbreakable laws and rules, he knew how to throw liimselt all round 
i8 



, :;8 THE MASTER OE"THE GUXXERYr 

about the child, and in the warmth of his bosom and his heart he could 
awaken new life in those who were committed to his charge. This is 
what it was intended a school-master should be; and as such 1 do not 
know where to look for his equal. 

" M)' own school life is among m\ most distinct memories. The school 
to which I was sent had not one single line of color in it. nothing that I 
learned, and nothing that I loved, and everything that I hated and loathed. 
It is a good thing to have a school made so sweet that a child draws out 
the golden thread of recollection of it clear through the whole length of 
his life, as many and manv a young man going out into this boisterous 
world holds the recollection of a mother, a thread that we always hold and 
ne\er lose. 

■"Afterwartls. when 1 went to Boston, I did learn something; 1 learned 
the Latin grammar, and mv text-book clear through, but 1 did not 
remember one single word of it. 1 learned also the art ot firing wads 
when the school-master was not looking, and the art of being a victim, 
and of standing up bravely and taking fifty slaps with a rattan on m\- 
hand without crving; though I must confess my fingers telt swollen. 
Oh ! to bring back to the heart the memories of such a school as that ! I 
recollect going to College at Amherst, now grown beautiful, and 1 learned 
a great deal there (outside the recitation room). I wandered over the hills. 
It was there that I went to study; it was there that I learned to find God 
and nature ; it was there that the elements of coming life were given to 
me. 1 learned much at Amherst; and yet nothing that ever touched 
my heart, e.xcept to know old Doctor Humphrey. I never got any other 
idea from him but that he was a man. It is a great thing to have a 
teacher that will fill out to the scholars the idea, the perfection of a true 
man, and not one of these pale-faced scholastic men that come from the 
realm Q>i useless knowledge. A man with a bell\- and with legs and feet, 
and fists, and a head ; who is not afraid to do this, that, or the other, or 
to say just what he thinks ; a man with forethought and power, and with 
liberty to feel and to act ; loving that which is right, so that he shall never 
be afraid of wrong-doing, and distinguishing right from evil; and with all 
that, to carrv himself lordlv and heavenly — this is what imparts education. 

" .And it is more if he has the art of instilling the love of truth — and Mr. 
Gunn did know how to do that ; he taught the boys to abhor that which 
was evil, he abhorred lies and all that which is degrading, and he loved 
frankness and truth and honor. He every day opened the eyes of the 
children that thev might see the great ends to be achieved in this world. 
Thex' learned the wa\s of scholastic thought, and learned the wavs of the 



LAST DAYS AND LAST RLTLiS. 



139 



just; the ways of truth, and the love of reUi^ion. I know it; I sent my 
boy — knowini^ who his father was, I sent him here. He came back 
with less theology, but more religion. It is a great thing to have- a school- 
master that is able to teach not only what is to become of us hereafter, 
but also what God in providence is saying all the time, what ( iotl in nature 
is extolling all the time ; not only to know that Christ died for our salva- 
tion, but to be interested in the things that govern nature among men ; 
everything that teaches and concerns the welfare of men, and es])eciall\- in 
the great struggles of wrong against right. Many and man\' a young 
man came out into the toils of lite e([uipped for the conflict of life by the 
influences that came from this school-master. Ah ! it is a good thing to be 
a hero, such as Grant, or Sherman, or Sheridan, not fighting for the love 
of fighting, but for the love of the country and patriotism ; but it is ncjbler 
to be a hero in the great eternal kingdom, to overthrow the devil and his 
dominions in every form of meanness and wickedness. There speaks the 
hero ! Of those that seek honor, such are the nearest to (iod. 

" He has not gone from us. He never was so near us ; he never was .so 
influential as he is to-day among us. He dwells in the very history of 
this town ; he lives on these hills. His institution is purified, not alone 
by what overhangs the scene of his life: but there lingers there a benedic- 
tion emanating from what is missed in the absence of the old master, as of 
the angels of God, and his memory is more .serviceable to this community 
than his presence now would be. He will still be a blessing that will guide 
the coming generation in this goodly town of Washington. May the s])irit 
of this man who has (piickened the lives of so many never go out ; ma\- it 
abide here ! 

" If I may be ])ermitted to venture so near a trespass u]K)n family rela- 
tions, let me also say : God's grace and blessing be upon the head of her 
that stood by his side, and was mother, as he was mother, and master as 
he was master, and filled out every nook and corner of the great life in that 
school, making him largely what he was, or sustaining him in the great 
conflicts that he was obliged to go through. And as the da\s are com- 
ing, — the Indian-summer days late in the year, the last kiss before the 
winter — so may your life be blessed to see the riches of the life to come, 
and to see the life of God in heaven, before the winter of life shall come, 
and its storm descend. May you come out into that other life where there 
is no winter, nor days, nor nights, nor any other light than the light that 
shines in the love of the Lord Jesus Christ. 

" And so we go to hold a farewell service in that beautifiil place on the 
hill-top that looks out upon the region around, where his dust will sleep. 



140 



/'///:■ M.ISTER OF ^-THE GUNNERVr 



and \vc shall wait in the blessed expectation of hearing" that one note which 
will have in it all the music of time — Welcome, Welcome! And it it be, 
as Peter intimates, that they that ha\e ^one up there shall meet at the i^ate 
of heaven the blessings of those whom they have lett behind, oh ! how 
blessed will be the outcoming of the school-master, and the children of the 
school-master with whom he is blessed ; and what blessings and greetings 
will be his in the Fatherland, in the home of the Father in Heaven !" 

At the close of the service in the church the company assembled again 
about the \eiled monument in the cemetery, and .Senator Piatt, in the 
name of the Association, presented the memorial to the family of Air. 
Ciunn, and Mr. fohn C Prinsmade briefl)- and felicitously accepted it on 
their Ijehalf .Senator Piatt has more fully treated of his subject in the 
chapter he has contributed to this book, and his remarks are not repro- 
duced here. 

It was at an informal meeting held at the (iunnery that evening, that 
the preparation of a memorial volume was considered in detail, and if the 
completion of this work has been less rapidly accomplished than w'as the 
erection of the monument, it must be ascrilied in part to the growth of the 
plan during its progress. It has Ijeen the contribution of bus\' men in 
busv times towards perpetuating the memory of the man to whom their 
indebtedness has been that of snns to a father, that generations of boys 
might learn to know, somewhat as the}- knew him, the Master of the 
Camnerv. 




vi: 



MR. GUNN'S WRITTEN WORDS 



Except as otherwise noted, the extracts in this chapter arc all from letters written by Mr. Gunn in 
New Preston to Miss Abigail I. Brinsmade, .afterwards Mrs. Gunn. It strangely happens that 
the letters of the period covered by these fragments (1843-1853) are the only ones that have 
been preserved. 



SL.WERV AS SKEN AT THE SOUTH. 

f7K^^^_5 HAD hoped that ni)- connection with Dr. Andrews, who has great in- 
2 fluence and popularity here and extensive acciuaintance among the 




liigher classes, might introduce me to some slave-holders with whom I 
could converse freely upon their abominable system; but I have given 
up the hope. The South is worse than I ever thought it. 1 have had 
a long, confidential talk with Dr. A. upon the subject. I told him I meant to talk 
with the gentlemen slave-holders, to whom he introduced me, and was willing for 
myself to risk the consequences of a stump speech to the people, — at all events, to 
the candid men I must talk in private at least. He replied: "Upon this subject there 
are no candid men," and entreated that if not for m\-self, }-et for the sake of him 
and his famil\-, I would hold my peace. He cotild protect me from personal vio- 
lence, but it wDuUl be at the sacrifice of all his prospects in life, of his standing in 
society, and all the interests of his family. He dare not let it be known that I am 
an abolitionist, nor allow me to speak to his most intimate friends. He felt that I 
would not refrain in consequence of any fears for myself, and therefore he urged me 

solely out of regard for himself and my sisters 

The Dr. Welshes me to stay that I may study slavery, but I find in order to do it 
I must become a slave ; besides, what chance have I to study, when I can neither 
converse with the tyrants nor their victims ? Will the masters who will not listen to 
a word open the doors wide and suffer me to examine at my will ? Preposterous ! 
\Vhate\-er knowledge I gather will be gained in spite of them. 1 shall not stay here 
long on such terms. I will not sacrifice my friends, but they must not expect me to 
sacrifice myself — [Go/t/s/'o/v, .V. C, /i'-/J-] 



142 



THE MASTER OE ''THE GUNNEEY." 



r.R.WE UTTERANXE A MAX S DUTY. 



Now, see how the case stands. I am an abuHtionist among a slave-holding com- 
munit)'. I am a teetotaller among a people where the rum-maker and rum-seller 
are respectable men : a desperate heretic in the miilst of a staunch, orthodox peo- 
ple. I am a n(in-conforniist in man_\' things — in some I stand all alone. 

Many hate me most cordially, as you know ; but I value their opinion so little, 
it irks me not. 1 speak plain, /nir words about a church that bu)'s and sells to a 
life of dissolute wretchedness x'oung girls whom friends love as we lo\'e you. I 
utter a harsh, true word about a ministry that quotes Scripture for the crime ; but 
my friends are shocked — the\' cannot bear to hear it. 

Worse still, I cannot find all the religious notions in which 1 have been educated 
til be true, and I sa\- so. h'oes call me a heretic, or an infidel, and friends look 
upon me as a dangerous person. What shall I do, — revoke my views, give up m_\- 
opinions, fall in with the stream of fashionable religion? Before God, I cannot; mj' 
words are true and right to me, with the light I have. How can I surrender m}- 
opinions? t/ia/ would be to Iosl' m_\- soul at once, tn throw it away as a dangerous 
thing. Shall I suppress ni\- thoughts in my own breast ? Impossible ! I must be 
a man, not a coward. The man who dares not think, or, thinking, dare not speak 
his thought, is a miserable slave. I must keep my lips free and m_\- soul free. My 
friends must fall oft' if they can't bear it. If I were to be dumb when humanity 
wants m_\' \'oice, if I were to suppress m_\' convictions and fetter m_\' soul for the 
sake of retaining their friendship, I should never dare look ni)' o\\ n soul in the face 
again. — [To Mary }[. pyriiisiiiadc* April j, /I'^V.^'] 

* h seems htting that a word should be said here of the beautiful hfc wliich ended but a leu 
months ago, on the seventeenth of April, 1887. The letters quoted above were written to Mary M. 
Brinsmade the year before she graduated at Mount Holyoke, and entered upon her work of teaching 
with all tlie enthusiasm of a disciple of Mary Lyon — a work which she continued for many years. 
To her pupils she was more than a teacher; she was a great power of fascination and influence, the 
revealer of a new world of thought and feeling, the inspirer of a new faith in the Love of C.od, and 
in the things which are spiritual. 

Although the sphere of her influence was changed, it was not lessened Ijy her maniage. in 1864, 
to Mr. George L. Brown. Perhaps her nature was best disclosed in her home and in her de\olion 
to her husband and her mother; — was there ever a lovelier picture of old age than we had 
in "Grandma ISrinsniade " ! How eager were both Mr. and i\Irs. P.rown to make others 
happy out of the abundance of their own happiness! " Brownley," their stately house, was 
a favorite gathering-place of the dwellers on the Green and the hills around it, a center 
for " reading circles " and intellectual intercourse, a home radiant with sunshine and welcome, 
no matter what or how great the demand one brought to its door. Mrs. Brown impressed 
all who knew her with the force of her large nature, and with the breadth and depth of 
her thought, yet the charm of her tenderness and grace made an impression deeper still. The\ 
are few who form friendships so intense and so intimate as hers, yet she was the friend of every one, 
and especially of those whose lives were the humblest or the saddest. 

To lose her is for Washington a great and irreparable loss; it is akin to that of Mr. Gunn, and 
brings new depths to the realization of our need of him. But in both losses we have a like consola- 
tion. We can rejoice that she has entered into the Heavenly joy whicli evtn here was so real to her, 
and we have still the blessing of her influence and the inspiration of hei- rh.nacter. 



MR. GUNN'S WRITTEN WORDS. 



SI'RINt;-TIMK. 



M3 



When the genial spring fills all the air with this spirit of life, this influence we 
feel but cannot name, that makes the heart expand with a more joyous and bound- 
ing life, — then the stupidest boor that from his fresh furrow looks up into the sky 
and hears the bluebird warble, cannot but worship God. Kind Nature speaks an 
unheard but a deep-felt voice into his heart, saying, " Be good, be good like the 
spring; be kind and loving like the Father who sends the soft breeze and the sun- 
light, the flower's beauty, the bird's music, — love all things." 

But better still, kinder than sunshine, than aught Nature show-s, is a good, loving 
look from the face of man. There is nothing like it. Be it from an enemy, even, 
the heart will be grateful, though it be but a transient glance. 

What voices do not such kind looks utter ; how eloquently they persuade us to 
be like God ! What bad thoughts, bad words, bad deeds liave been repressed by a 
look of s}-nipatli)', a word of friendl}- confidence. I can well remember what effect 
you and others had upon me in school when I was morose and ill-tempered. Did 
you know you had helped me to govern my spirit, more than Ivhave ever helped you 
to master the Latin? — [ /"o Mary J/. I'viiisiiiadc, April, iS^j?^ 

ON THE I.\F.\I,l.ir.II,ITV OF THE BIBLE. 

I believe the Bible to be inspired, but not to be infallible. The Bible itself never 
makes any such claims. Its authors were all erring, sinful men, with like passions 
to ours, not free from infirmities. This they knew, and they never claim submission 
to their opinions as infallible. I know we have been taught differently, but I think 
such teachings to be based mcreh- upon assumptions. . . . 

But I never thought of rejecting the Bible or the Christian religion ; on the con- 
trary, I love them both more and more every day. I love the Bible, because I now 
see wherein it is good and beautiful. 1 try to appreciate it, to get at the mind and 
spirit of its writers. Let us help each other to understand it more and more. — \To 
Mary M. Britisiiiacif, £>irc////'cr j, iS^j;.] 

LIVINC; ISSUES IN THE ElClir OF DUTY. 

(From a letter written in January, 1846, during the height of his social persecution for abohtionism 
and alleged infidelity, — the letter being one of the earliest in the correspondence with Abigail 
I. Brinsmade. ) 

Have I become false to all my mother's sweet teaching? Is her spirit cheated 
of its heavenly bliss by the contemplation of my changed character and desperate 
principles ? . . . When just ten years old, I stood above the graves of both 
father and mother in such desolation of heart as you can never know. My religious 
education had been the strictest. All the institutions of religion which my mother 
reverenced, so did I ; but I was quickly changed. My brothers were, or became, 
profane : so did I. Religion became hateful to me. I derided it. I did forget my 



J 44 THE MASTER OF ^^THE GUNNERY:' 

mother's teachings, exce])t in the still night-watches. At fourteen or fifteen I 
became converted — when }uu and so many joined the church ; why I did not I 
can hardly tell. I have the most vivid and distinct recollection of all my feelings 
during the time I called myself a Christian. Time passed, the revival died away, 
and I became as before. I continued reckless of religion until after I left college, 
when 1 entered into a controversy with my brother John on abolition. John had 
never laid aside his religion. The idea of his duty to God never leaves him ; it 
distinguishes him from all men I ever knew. Well, he urged the principles of Free- 
dom upon me. I dissented, and read his books and papers to be able to refute him. 
Thence I imbibed a spirit I had never known before. The doctrines were .self-evident. 
I submitted at once. There was a kind of heroic ardor about the men who advocated 
them, in defiance of mobs and the public opinion, which I could not but admire. 

To be religious as others are is easy. Fashionable religion bears no cross ; it 
affords no trial of character ; but to bear the banner of truth aloft and forward amid 
a storm of public hatred and wrath and execration, to be hunted and spit upon, 
ostracised from society, persecuted and calumniated by one's own neighbors, and 

still not 

" Bate a jot 
Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer 
Ri<;ht onward " — 

that required some heroic devotedness of soul. Such I found the abolitionists to 
be. 1 learned then what it is to listen to the voice of conscience and follow its 
teachings. Well, insensibly I began to promulgate these truths. I attended meet- 
ings where they were discussed. I continued to read. We went along smoothly 
till Parson Haj-es came out against us ; then came the storm. We were not 
allowed to reply. John talked in church meetings, and then the battle wa.xed hot- 
ter. ... It came into politics. We followed the principle which requires us 
to give no aid to slaver\'. The Whig party we regarded as gi\ing aid to slavery 
and we abandoned it. It was easy to do that. Meanwhile the discussion was 
waxing hotter all o\'er the country ; we regarded it as the great question of the 
age. . . . 

Let us come to religion. I started from the sin of slaver\', . then the 

sin of sustaining slavery. I argued that nothing could be of Ciod which willfully 
sustained slavery ; but it was b\- slow degrees, and with great reluctance, that I 
admitted the American cluuch to be the great bulwark of the infernal system. 
I blamed myself for holding back and admitting the truth too slowly ; but 
I did admit and now assert, that no institution nor all institutions are doing so 
much to perpetuate slavery as the churches in /Xmerica ; that nothing in Judea 
exerts so great an influence to ]ire\ent the people fiom hearing the truth and adopt- 
ing it, as their rclii^iou, their religious teachings, their religious institutions. You 
see why I have denied the sacred and divine claims of the chinxh corporations and 
organized clergy o{ the countr)-. It was Thomas Carhde who taught me never 
again to look to such classes of men for gtiidance ; that evci-y man with a true and 
saving word to utter is divinely inspired f >r its utterance. 



J/A'. GCJVA"S WRITTEN WORDS. 145 

Well, then came the Sabbath ; because all o\-er the' land it is used not to teach 
ris^hteousness but sectarianism, and against the sla\-e. Here again I was some 
years in fixing my opinions clearly and definitely ; and I now agree with Luther, 
Calvin, Melancthon, Milton, and a host of other noble inL-n from whom you difl'er. 
As to holy places, the idea of God's infinit>- makes c\ery place hol\-, each 
spot a temple, all earth a sanctuary. 

I don't know how heretical I am about the Sacraments. . . Religion con- 

sists in the spirit you cherish, the life you live, rather than in external observ- 
ances. 

But of the Bible, what of that ? I will say th.it 1 think it never influenced my 
opinions as much as now ; that I never loved it so much as now. 1 believe the 
Bible, I think, just as its authors would wish to ha\e it beliewd. I belie\e it to be 
inspired ; but probably not just as you believe it to be. 1 dn not belie\'c infallible 
guidance is possible to man. 

So my opinions have been forming. I have not adopted one without looking at 
all sides of it ; there is not one I am not ready to change to-night, if you will show 
me good reason for it. . . . Am I a heretic ? If so, suppose I remain a heretic. 
Why should I forfeit your good opinion ? Do my heresies corrupt my heart ; do 
they deprave my character ; do they attach to me anything unworthy of a man ; do 
they grow out of meanness, and ripen into vice ? 

I feel that I am too sensitive. I have tried to harden my heart against this 
weakness, to let everybody think of me as the\' pleased and snap my fingers ; but 
I cannot succeed at all times, or toward all persons. I earnestly desire your con- 
fidence and esteem, and feel that it should not for such reasons be withheld. 

THE NATURE OF A TRUE tTIURCH. 

You laugh at the exclusiveness of the Catholic so far as his ban against you is 
concerned, but you mourn to think that same notion of the sacredness of that church 
should lead its devotees to put confidence in a substitute for goodness. They rely 
upon the church for salvation, and accordingly do not save themselves from their 
sins. Now, the doctrine of your church is substantially the same, and leads to the 
same results. The church magnifies itself, claims a divine origin, sacred immuni- 
ties, superhuman prerogatives. It assumes to vote men in and vote them out of 
Christ's church ; whereas every man who reposes faith on Jesus Christ becomes by 
that very act of his own soul a member of Christ's church. Now, in the first place, 
I deny to any and all these bodies the divine character and divine origin which 
they claim. They are mere voluntary societies, like temperance and anti-slavery 
societies, formed, originated, and like them kept in being by the members who com- 
pose them. They are formed for a most noble purpose: for the most part, by most 
noble men. They have done, and are doing, a most glorious work in the world. 
All honor to them while they are good ; pity, and if we cannot help it, contempt 
for them when they cease to be good and become mean. They are organized by 
heroes; they afterward become the refuge of cowards. At first the church is known 
by its works ; at last you must take its works for granted because of its name. . . . 

19 



146 



THE MASTER OF ^'■THE GUNXERY 



I claim him as my Christian minister who teaches mc the most moral and reUgious 
truth. Not. "Was he ordained, and b\- whom ? " but, " What does he teach and 

do ? " that was tlie question once among Congregation'alists. I know some men 

that I belie\-e to be ministers of Christ, that were never set apart or ordained — nay, 
that arc not even called Christians by some. Is not tliis plain common sense, 
Abbie ? The body of men and women in Judca called a church — what is it? has 
it an)- peculiar character ? Did God plant it there any more than he planted the 
school thei-e ? Are they all his peculiar people ? Is there any reason why I should 
spare it when it does wrong any more than I should the temperance society ? If 1 
tell the plain truth about it, thev' shriek out, " You are reviling the church of 
Christ ! " and I get a bad name. But I sa)-, " Not so. I am not reviling the 
church ; I am telling the truth about a bod\' which has no right to skulk behind a 
claim to sacredness." 

Do tell me, how came \\e e\er to consider things sacred any farther than we 
found them good ? Let us come back from the show to the substance ; let us 
overlook names and look at things. He that doeth righteousness is righteous; 
and though a church be ever so venerable for age or for the piety of its founder, it 
can confer no peculiar sanctit\- upon its members, it can claim nothing for itself any 
further than it is found in the wa\' of dut}-. l^Lvery man of us stands alone, bare 
before the e}-e of the Almight)- to answer each for himself — \_Jaiinary 12, iS^6?^ 

Do we make any progress in our discussion ? Let me tell again what 
1 want to say. The distinction between the church and the world, consider- 
ing the church as a visible, organized body, is a false distinction. There is no such 
thing in fact; the peculiar character claimed b)- the common churches, whether 
Catholic or Protestant, Roman or American, does not belong to them, — tho\- must 
consent to be judged by the same standard we appl>- to a temperance societ)-. By 
their fruits ! by their fruits / not b}- their name. Candid jjersons must no more be 
shocked to hear one speak disrespcctfull\- of the church than of the temperance 
society. They must ask for the reverence of men no farther than the}' deser\'e it b\- 
their character. IMembershii:) in a churcli must be no shield for a man's faults, no 
cloak for his \ices. .A drunken, man-stealing church-member must no more be 
called a Christian than any other drunkard or slaveholder. If the church acknowl- 
edged this, antl the people acted and judgctl accordingly, I should have no more to 
say against it. 15ut so long as the church claims, and the people concede, a pecul- 
iarly sacred character, so long as m\' brother men are matle drunken and enslaved 
in consequence of it, so long I must speak against it. 1 tlo not think 'tis owing to 
m\' destructivtr spirit. \m I remarkable for fault-finding? for railing? do I kick 
the one whom all the ]ieo]ile spurn? Vou sa\- I am bitter. It ma\- be so. 1 ha\c 
asked )'our ad\'ice. I want to penetrate into my own character and root out the 
evil. Help me by all manner of plain speech ; but, you see, what )'0u call bitterness 
I call truth. 

Here is a man who is enslaving our brothers, chaining them ilown to a mere ani- 
mal existence, tiMni])ling on their luaits, ti'cating them as mere n<ithings, — this is 
uiil c.\.igg(.-ralinn, it is seicntihc ficl. lie is uphnlding a s_\stem by which this is 



MR. GUNN'S WRITTEN WORDS. 



14; 



done on a giant scale. He, and others like him, have enlistetl the nation in defense 
of the system ; our public servants are its champions. I have in thought made the 
case mine. I feel about it as I should if you or I were the sufferers. Now, this man 
is called a Christian, this acknowledgment of Christian character is sufficient for him. 
Why should he repent ; is he not on the way to heaven ? If he were not a church- 
member no one would think of calling him a Christian. The church is his castle. If 
the church were good he could not remain, but it defends him, finds a pillow for 
his head, whispers, " It is well with thee," when it is ill with him. Hut this is not 
the end of it ; when we tr\- to reach him there, we are met b\- an anathema. The 
church enters warmly into the conflict in fiivor of the Avrong-doer and against the 
truth-speaker. This you must feel to be true, I think. The influence of the church 
goes tremendously in favor of the wrong side. Albert Barnes says the religious 
sanction given to slavery by the American churches does more than all things else 
to perpetuate the s\'stem, — so sa_\- tlie religious bodies in England. 

Now, I see all this, and I no longer re\-erence the church as a good body. I con- 
fess I feel the rising of indignation. I want to cr\- out, — but see how this feeling is 
heightened when I see all the people dumb, even the abolitionists dumb. The}' are 
dastards and dare not speak out the truth the\" have in them. The)- denounce the 
political parties and separate from them, while they remain in fellowship with the 
religious parties that are doing ten times more than the political parties can do to 
prop up the system. I know that it is fear that seals their lips. The church is dear, 
their reputation is dear, the sympathy of loving friends is dear ; they cannot forfeit 
these, — so they make believe, and hush it up, and blame me when I speak what 
they very softly acknowledge to be truth. When I have been talking with some such 
cowardly abolitionist, I don't know but I speak too harshly, perhaps uncharitably; 
but speak in some way I must. There are men enough to kick the puppies. There 
are enough to speak e\'il, even if they have to invent it, of those whom all condemn. 
Some one must reach the popular criminals and drag them to justice. It is eas\' to 
rail against publicans and sinners ; it is hard to speak severe truth of a Pharisee in the 
presence of the Pharisees. I must speak out though it cost me reputation, — that is a 
small matter, but I am b_\- no means insensible of its wtirth, — though it cost me 
friends, a heavier loss and the heaviest. A man can live without reputation. Jesus 
Christ made himself of no reputation, and I have never heard that he repented it. 
But a man cannot live without friends — at least I do not yet see how I can. But then, 
if the loss of such depends upon the utterance of one's deepest convictions he is 
still a dastard that holds his tongue. 

I don't like to write about this, but I want >-ovi to see that it is not bitlcnicss 
that leads me to speak as I do. I have to compel myself to speak. So far from 
loving the office, in moments of coolest reflection I blame myself for tameness and 
lukewarmness, never or seldom for severity. I often repent of having held my 
tongue, never of having spoken. So much for this matter. — {January rg, 18.^6.'] 

MORAL SELF-RELIAN'CE. 
Your sect generall)- accept, almost implicitly, the doctrines of John Calvin ; he is 
an authority. Now, it is plain to me, and I think it is to \-ou, that not one in ten 



^^^8 THE MASTER OE -^T/fE GUA'A^EEV." 

liavc ever studied and dccpl)' pondered liis creed — in comparison with that of George 
Fox, for example. The_\- arc not relying upon their own thought, but upon his. Well, 
su])pose the bottom of his tub should drop out, suppose his cunningly devised and 
skillfully erected structure should melt into mist, like the Russian queen's ice palace ? 
What then ? Suppose that his doctrine of the atonement should prove as baseless 
.as the Pope's doctrine of indulgences, where are those who have relied upon it? 
It seems to me if I exert any influence over other minds, it is to cultivate 
in them independence of thought, independence of Parker and Carlyle as much as of 
Cahin or Parson Hayes — emancipation of mind from the thraldom of mind, that 
each soul may stand naked l:)eforo the truth. Great minds cast their shadows into 
the world of spirit, as the planets project their shadows through the solar sys- 
tem — let us not be satellites, so shall we avoid their darkness. No, I did not ask 
\-ou to read Theodore Parker that your " poor reason might )-ieId an easy con- 
quest to his intellect," but that \'our cautious and well-balanced mind might feast 
richly on the beautiful and noble things contained in the book. I never get a good 
thought but I long to impart it, and I have longed to read to you more than to any 
one else, because I thought your mind eminently conservative, cool and cautious, 
and able to detect fallacies which would escape my observation. . . . Vou 
ought to see to it that timidity does not keep your mind from looking all ways for 
light. " Without hearing all sides, how shall I know what is truth ? " said I to 
Deacon Aberneth)-. " Why, what we believe now, that is truth ! " said his wife. 
It seems to me we cannot grow on this principle. I have said thus much about self- 
reliance because I consider it fundamental, one of the essentials, and that no one can 
have faith in Christ till he has faith in himself Religion does not come by hearsay, 
and faith is worth little at second-hand. 

I reproach m)'self often with stupidity or cowardice in not protesting against 
opinions and principles I hear echoed in society. Not easil\-, but with labor, do I 
pursue a cnurse which leads me to contradict the words of those with whom I 
would gladly agree. Now, just see in one fiekl of tliought which occupies my 
attention as much as any, what need there is of non-conformity and protest. 
Sup[)ose I contemplate the condition of three millions of those whom, by some 
years of self-discipline, I have really learned to regard as my brethren. I skip all 
the outward tortures of their fate, the brandings, scourgings, starvings, etc. I take 
into \icw only their loss of that mental liberty which is so dear to me. The richest 
blessing which God ever vouchsafed to me, is access to the great thoughts of other 
minds. Assure me tn-day that ne\-er more shall I reatl a noble book, listen to the 
eloijuence of a noble tongue, drink in high and liberal principles from the atmosphere 
of noble minds, and I should not li\-e to see the morrow. When I think how the 
slave's mind is not fettered but obliterated till the [jossibility of thought, the desire 
to know, is a feeling he ne\'er dreams of I feel irresistibl\' impelled to plead for 
him, to hel|) him 

Well, hii\\- am I situated? Go where I will in a society as indift'erent t<.) 
this fact as the grave-stones are to the dead beneath them, if I speak such words 
of sympathy with the fate of some poor slave-girl as 1 should utter were \'ou. 



MR. GUNN'S WRITTKX WORDS. 



149 



m)- friend, reduced to sucli a situation, I am stared at as a madman. When I 
find that my neii^'hbors, the people of the North, are the real slax'eholdcrs, and I 
begin to say so, I lose ni)- friends, my name, and stand solitar_\- and uncheered 
except by the few wlio agree with me in sentiment. When I find that the so-calletl 
Church of Christ is the bulwark of slavery; that the religion of the land ri\ets the 
fetters of the slave ; that the worship of the pious seals the damnation of so many 
souls — when I see this, as I have for a long time, and but feebly express what I see, 
immediately I hear myself called an infidel. I am prohibited from conversing with 
my dearest friends on the subject, and get but cold looks, cold words, and but i^w 
of them. If I presume to defend some of the noblest men that the world was ever blest 
withal, the true prophets of this era, I am called a Garrisonite, or am pitied for hav- 
ing been infected with the mailness of N. 1*. Rogers. Now, you arc hardly able to 
believe me when 1 sa_\- that 1 find it difficult to run counter to public sentiment, to 
protest against the practical lies which I find all about me. Vou think it affords me 
pleasure thus to stand alone, that I am eager to take the opposite side of whatever 
comes up, and \'ou remind me that " it does not answer in societ)' to li\e like 
Ishmael." 

It has been revealed to me that our politics, religion, social customs, the whole 
temper and spirit of society is pro-slaver\\ I say so, and try to wash my hands 
of responsibility, and j'ou tell me if " we would live in a community we must pay 
the ta.x, not by sacrifice o{ principle but only oi prejudice." I tell you society 
requires of every abolitionist that he sacrifice all that is vital in his principles, and 
that he yield to a corrupt, pro-slavery public sentiment, which is the very vital 
breath and spirit of life to the system of slavery. So of religion, so of politics ! Is 
it prejudice merely that distinguishes George McDufifie or John C. Calhoun from 
William Lloyd Garrison ? Yet society receives the men-stealers and oppressors, who 
infamously assert that slavery is the corner-stone of republican institutions, while it 
repudiates Garrison, who sa)^s with Jesus Christ, " My countr)- is the world, my 
countrymen are all mankind." Houever difficult and painful it ma>- be, I must be 
a non-conformist in such societ)', and warn all who will heai' me against sub- 
serviency to it. — \_M<rri/i, iS.^6.'\ 

THE GREAT DOCTRINES. 

And did we not give the discussion less of the character of a controversy and 
more of friendly consultation and inquiry than before ? 1 regretted that I let my 
tongue run away with me, monopolizing so much of the time, but still I believe you 
did not find fault with me for it, as hindering you from talking when you would. 
Did we not make some [jrogress toward a mutual understanding of each other's 
views, if not toward an agreement in opinion ? But now I propose to speak of 
another matter. I have found a text upon which I can hang a sermon that will 
strike pretty near the center of difference between us. My text is the parson's ser- 
mon of Sunday afternoon. Was not the doctrine this ? — " The devil seeks by raising 
other issues, by directing attention to other questions, to lead men away from con- 
sidering the great doctrines of the Gospel, and thus to sink them in ])erdition." And 



I50 



'111 I-: MASTER OF -THE GLXXERy.' 



this was the dcfinitii)ii of a true church, \iz., "A body- bchc\iug, tcacliing, and faith- 
fully holdint^ to the great doctrines of the Gospel." And the following are the great 
doctrines: " 1st, total de[3ravity ; 2d, the need of an atonement; 3d, the sufficiency 
of Christ's atonement; 4th, belief in Christ as the atoning sacrifice; 5 th, justification 
by faith ; 6th, regeneration by the spirit ; 7th, sanctification ; 8th, the resurrection of 
the body ; 9th, the day of judgment ; lOth, a state of eternal rewards and penalties." 
There, in four lines, are the great doctrines of the Gospel — the fundamental doc- 
trines, the sum <ind substance of Christianity. Without believing all these (whether 
he heard them or not), no si.iul can be sa\ed, while all who do believe them shall 
inherit eternal life. . . lie has preached rejDeatedly "that a belief of these 

doctrines is sufficient to sah'ation, although the believer leatls a life worse than 
many infidels, though no one would ever suspect from their characters that they 
were Christians, and could only learn it by seeing them come to the Communion." 
How unsatisfactory was the parson's demonstration! He did not ajjpeal 
to the life and teaching of Jesus (_"hrist, to show from the four Gosjiels that this 
was their sum and substance. He asserted that the Bible taught thus, which 
ma_\- be true, but he should have showed that Christ set these forth and repeated 
them and l.iid the greatest stress upon them in order to make them appear the 
great doctrines. 

A te.xt from Da\id on depravity, another from Taul on the resurrection of the 
dead, another from I'etei' on faith, another from John on hea\en and hell, are not 
sufficient to an inquiring mind to prove these doctrines, much less to pro\-e that 
they are '(he great doctrines of the Gospel. Christ's sa\-ings, oftenest repeated, most 
strenuousl)' insisted ui)on by him, most in harmon_\- with his whole life and character, 
most apt to be reflected from his conduct, these seem to me to be most likel\- his 
great doctrines. 

Hut without saying more of the parson's reasoning, 1 pass to a more important 
matter. Are these the great doctrines of the Gospel ? .So we liave alwa\'s been 
taught. There they stood in the catechism to be reciteil e\'er\- Sunday. There 
they stand in the creed of the church; we hear them constantl)' preached from the 
pulpit, read them in the religious press — generall}' connected more or less with 
righteousness, to he sure, but still called the essentials. ( )f late years the\- have 
been insisted upon in their puritw ami some stir has been made. The .\merican 
Hoard cinnot le.u'e its appropriate work of preaching the (iospet to decide whetlier 
the Christians the\' make shall call and treat each other as lirute things and chattels, 
denying and defacing the godlike nature of man, or not, — their appropriate work 
is preaching the (iospel. So lately they refused to decide whether their new-made 
Christians might practice polygamy or not, — that docs not come under the ,i,'v-iV7/ 
doctrines; it is an extraneous topic. .\nd thus the first great law oi human society, 
the tlixine institution of the fiimily, is nothing to the Hoard, because it is not a 
point of doctrine. So the late " Evangelical /Xlhance" was formed on a doctrinal 
basis, leaving tpiestions of ntorals to be settled b>' other tribunals, and therefore the 
L[uestion whether the brethren of this great Christian fraternit)-, this united host of 
Christ's disciples, should make merchandise of eacli other, was one upon which they 



MR. GUNN'S U'RITTEX WORDS. j^j 

had nothing to do, and nothing to say, and after a \vccl;'s talk they ended by — 
saying nothing. — \_Xovcinbci\ 184.6^ 

TESTS OF CHRISTIAN CHARACTER. 

If these are the great doctrines of the Gospel, tlic fundamentals, then the theo- 
logians are right. If Christianity consists in a belief of these doctrines then they arc 
not called upon to settle questions of morals ; then those who would exclude polj'g- 
amists and slaveholders are introducing a new test not essential to Christian 
character; they are indeed the " disturbers of Israel " ; then the church is under no 
obligation to take a position against slavery, intemperance, piracy, murder, or vice 
of any kind ; it has no business to exclude a slaveholder, or a robber, or a rum- 
seller, or a drunkard, or a polygamist, or a libertine. But then Christianity ceases to 
be the true religion ; the Church ceases to be the light of the world. Such a church 
and religion could not long continue in the world. Why, even the Romish Church 
in its worst days never abandoned the work of reform entirely ; it has not to this day. 

Let us look freely and seriously into this matter. Is there hope for man? Is 
Christianit}" the onl}- hope ? Then it means something, has something to do with 
life, witli character and conduct; it is a realit}', not a hollow simulacrum; a spirit, 
not a sliade. This I firmly belie\'e, else I icoii/d be "an infidel." The name of 
Christian is dear to me, so dear that I dare not assume it to myself, so revered that 
I dare not give it to any but the noble and true; but if it means only a believer in 
a creed, I lose my respect for it at once. 

I feel insulted, degraded often, when men called Christians urge me to seek sal- 
\ation ; they take it for granted I am soulless and selfish and mean and cowardly, 
and they urge me to get religion enough to save me from the clutches of Satan at 
least. Religion to me means to be true, to be good, to grow according to the law 
of the soul. I ci:)unt a divine life, and through it a divine character, the great end 
of religion. Salvation of the soul means salvation from sin. and not from the /(V/- 
tilfv of it; from meanness and falseness, from cowardice ami corruption, not from 
suftering and torments. — l^Xirvcinbcr, 1846.'] 

VIEWS OF SALVATION. 

A faith which a.sks no questions of the future ; in other words, a perfect love of 
everything good and right, a perfect hate of everything wrong, a trust which asks 
no questions about one's fate — these are salvation. The soul which has grown to 
this no devils can daunt, no hell can torture any more. It is one with God and 
reposes in the bosom of the Father. Oh, Abbie, let us grow to such a stature ; let 
us cultivate such a state of mind, be such souls, then shall we be Christians indeed. 
Let us forget creeds and vain philosophies, and study this great, practical religion, 
obeying all the moral precepts which Jesus spent his life in inculcating, imitating 
his conduct, knowing that it is imitable. Did he not say, " If ye have faith ye shall 
do greater works than these." -Apply tin's idea to life, you will .see how practical it 



,-2 THE MASTER OF -THE GUNNERY:' 

is. " Love to \-our neighbor is tlie best antl only assurance of \'oiir lo\'e to God. 
Rev. Slax-eholder, test yourself by this rule. Vou are imbruting your equal brother, 
keeping him in ignorance, denying God's stamp on his brow. Do you k)ve \'our- 
sclf thus ? " "Oil, no." "Then you are not Christ's." This is the test of charac- 
ter wliich I understand Christ to lav down. How it forbids taking to ourselves 
better than we gi\'e to all. Who then can be saved ? See how it cuts up a relig- 
ion of forms. The Jew would offer his lamb in sacrifice. Jesus says, You must 
offer yourself a sacrifice for your brothers as well as )'ourself, even as I offer myself 
a sacrifice for all, for we are all His offspring. The Jew would devote one day in 
seven to the worship of God. Jesus says, not one day only, but all the seven. A 
divine life ! how it abolishes the distinction between secular and profane, religious 
and worldl}-, work and worship, praying and thinking. Worship? — the whole life 
must be service, and that is the only acceptable worship. 

I should love to take the New^ Testament and read to you an hour from Christ's 
own words, where he sets this forth most beautifully. Moral precepts for the regu- 
lation of the heart and the conduct in a cultivation of a divine character — these 
seem to me the burden of his preaching. I should sa\' he taught practical duties 
always, theology never; morals cdways, doctrines nexer ; life always, creeds never. 
1 ha\e read the Gospels all over with this thought in mind, and find it verified. I 
have this nn)ment thrown down my pen and read the Sermon on the Mount. It is 
a sufficient exposition of my meaning, and a triumphant vindication of all I have 
said — moral precepts for the regulation of heart and life, for the cultivation of piety 
toward God and lo\e toward man. He makes the application, descends into par- 
ticulars, begins with " Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of 
heaven," through three long chapters gives specific directions as to feeling, thought, 
and conduct; then tells us to judge by the fruits, and finalU' declares the one who 
heareth these sa>-ings and doetli them to be founded on a rock. Is it not so, Abbie, 
is not this the rock of ages ? "To come to Christ"; is it not to come and learn of 
him the great principles of conduct ? To believe on Christ, is it not to beliex'c this 
great idea of religion which he inculcated ? To be clothed with the righteousness 
of Christ, is it not tn be righteous, as he was, by a diligent cultivation of the soul 
according to his teachings and in imitation ol his life ? Imputed righteousness ! _\-ou 
might as well talk of imputed warmth to a man freezing in a snow-tlrift. But won't 
)-ou read that sermon with my idea in \()ur mind and see if I am not right ? 

The "great doctrines " of the Gospel, what are thcv ? When Christ preached, 
what did he preach ? A divine character attained by the cultivation of love to God 
and man, and manifested by these fruits, viz., a practical treatment of all our 
brothers of the human famil\- as if we regardetl them as equals, and sought their 
happiness as much as our own. Space would fail me to pursue the course of his 
history and show that this idea lies at the bottom of all his teachings; but 1 must 
touch on a few points. 

Take this for example, in the same sermon (Matt, vii.,7, 12), God is more ready to 
give than earthl}- parents, " therefore, all things \\hatsoe\'er \e would that men 
slloukl do lo you, do ye e\en so to them, for this is the law and the prophets." 



MR. GUNN'S U'RITTEX WORDS. 



■53 



As if he had said the blessedness of your own sou! is iiuimatcly connected witli, 
nay, inseparable from, this generosity of love, this unselfishness of heart, this state 
of mind which makes you know no distinction between others' welfare and your 
own. And this agrees with his word to those who inquired when his kingdom 
should come — "The kingdom of heaven is vithiii voii." The)- dreamed as many 
do now of a m\thological elysium ; but the heaven Jesus spoke of had no reference 
to space or time ; it was a state of mind. Goodness is heaven, now as well as here- 
after. See, too, how he answered the lawyer (Matt, xxii., 34-40). "Which is the 
great command? Love God and your neighbor; these are the two on which hang 
all the law and the prophets." 

See, also, how he answered the young man (Matt. .\i.\., 16-30). He taught him 
no new plan of salvation, said nothing of the "great doctrines" of modern theolog)- ; 
he only reiterated the well-known precepts, and then put the )'oung man's self-denial 
to the test. No wonder his disciples exclaimed, "Who then can be saved?" Could 
we abide such a test ? But Jesus knew no lower standard, recommended no other 
plan, and the young man " went awa\' sorrowful." Read as a sample the 25th chap- 
ter of Matthew, but especially from the 31st verse through. According to what 
standard does Jesus Christ judge men? What is his test? What must we do to 
inherit eternal life ? Read and see. How imposing his introduction ! how simple 
and beautiful his style ! how searching and soul-trying his test ! how plain and 
unmistakable its application ! how decisive the result ! 

Need I say any more ? What shall we believe and do to save the soul ? What 
is the great duty ? What the great doctrine? Is it not here in a nut-shell, Abbic ? 
(and what becomes of all the talk about total depravity, atonement, justification by 
faith, election, and predestination ?) How dare Mr. Hayes speak of these practical 
duties of life as the " tithes of mint, anise, and cummin," and of liis great doctrines, 
as "Judgment, mercy, and fait /i " .'' 

But I am coming to the bottom of my sheet. Let mc sum up in a word. It seems 
to me that sermon was as false as false can be ; that it left entirely out of sight the 
spirit, the distinguishing characteristic and chief excellence of Christ's teaching, and 
substituted in its stead an empty shadow of a shade, the ghost of a dead theolog}-, 
scholastic notions which Christ ne\'er taught, but which his wlioie life ami teaching 
most pointedl}- condemn and deny. From such [ireaching nothing but spiritual 
death can come. — [.///;/(', iS^6.~\ 



Deacon Whittlesey spoke of my father, of his intcgrit}-, his usefulness, and 
inquired if I thought him a religious man. I replied, "Yes." 

" Was he a member of the church ?" 

" No." 

" Hem ! Why did you call him religious ? " 

"Because of his integrity, benevolence, his many Christian virtues manifested in 
his life and testified to by all who knew him." 

" Did he keep up family prayer ? " 
20 



154 



THE .^r ASTER OF '-THE CrXXERV 



" Vcs, but tliat is one of the last tilings I should mention as a proof of his Chris- 
tian character." 

Then the deacon stared, hennned, and we began a talk which has lasted till 
now on prayer. I cannot repeat it. I had to say, though it will lie heavy on the 
deacon's mind, that fonnal prayer is no longer a \^ery good sign of a praying spirit ; 
that of the thousands who practice outward devotions, \'ast multitudes lead lives 
that contradict their praters, so that if God grants an answer to their words he will 
do it in spite of their acts. And I noticed this: whenever I illustrated by reference 
to Catholic, Episcopal, or other prayers than those of his own form, he agreed with 
me ; pra^'er was a poor test, not one of the fruits really by which we are to 
judge, — and )'et practicall\- it is a high test with him. He assented to all my Quak- 
erish notions about prayer; in short, he agreed with me in almost all I said, yet is of 
the same opinion still — an opinion pi'actically very different from mine. I doubt not 
the sincerity of the tleacon's pra_\-ers, but 1 think he has exalted the public, formal, 
expression abo\e its true \-,ilue. Though propcrl}- it is the "Christian's vital breath," 
\-et it need not be breathed in the ear of man, iia_\', had better not be. That is man's 
hi;diest moment when he reposes on the arm of God, looks to him for all. Alone 
with God, or with \'ou, too, present in mind, I think I can realize how prayer is the 
highest exercise of the soul. Seldom can 1 realize this in a meeting, and in most 
families it seems to me like one of the cliorcs. I am often reminded of that sa_\-ing 
of a worshiper at the close of a long prai,-er b\- a D. D. — " That is the best prayer 
ever made to a Boston andieiiee." 

1 kn<:)W \'ou will say I criticise harshlv-, uncharitably, but I think 1 do not. I do 
not want e\'erybody to pray for me, — those that love me and know me can't hel[i 
pra\'ing for me; the rest can't do it if they try. Neither would 1 make such a 
solemn ado about it. " Pra\'ing is thinking," said Giinderode ; "why should we 
think in such strange tones?" 1 think _\-ou pi'a\' foi' me, Abbie, for \'Ou know me 
])rett\- well and 1 hope lo\e me a little , and while I am w riting to you in the still 
night, does not God look into the secret places of my heart and see there forming 
itself a pra\'er for you ? Vou will not think me pra)-erless though otiiers may. I\I\- 
scholars, the)' doubtless think 1 nex'er pr.iy for them, because I do not repeat a 
pra\-cr of words every morning, and 1 cannot tell them that I dc;) until the\' know 
me. — \_Sniiniier of jS^6.'\ 

lAIIH .\ IJL'.VI.ITV OK IHK llE.\kT. 

Faith lies at the foundation of all character, is the background of all goodness, is 
the essential characteristic of the man. It is the ke\- to all high and divine knowledge. 
You see I agree with \ou as to its importance; in that particular I am orthodox. 
The next great ([uestion is. In what iloes faith consist? Now, nothing is more com- 
mon than to hear "our creed " spoken of b\' e\'er}- little sect as "the faith." h'aith, 
with some, is a belief of the Thirty-nine Articles, with some a belief in baptism, with 
some in free-will, with some in fore-ordination. It may, perhaps, be admitted that ;i 
Ta\-lorite and a T_\'lei-ite may both ha\e faith, though it is plain that a Ouaker cannot. 



MR. (rUiVN'S WRITTEX WORDS. ,-- 

A Uni\-crsalist cannot lia\ c faith, for he does not bcheve in hell ; a Unitarian, for he 
does not beUe\c in the atonement; a CathoUc, for he believes in pnrgatory, etc., etc. 
A man must not beHeve too mucli, which is as fatal to faith as believiny too little. 

Parson Ha_\-es t^ave his creed often articles, and said faith was believing- in that. 1 
don't know exacth' how many articles \-ou would insist upon, hut I ho[)e you are 
ready to shorten the list. Vou sometimes think I have made shijnvreck of faith 
because I have questioned and denied many propositions that none of your friends 
ever questioned before. . . What is meant by faith when it is said, " we are 

saved by faith ? " Does it mean a belief in this or that theologic creed ? in any 
statement of doctrine ? in any theory of salvation ? in any explanation of its plan ? 
It seems to me the religious people who use the word and apply it to such things 
sadly pervert it. I think it has nothing to do with such things, — not so much to do 
with the creed in these times as with the temperance pledge. I will define it as I 
understand it and illustrate ni_\- meaning. I call faith not a belief in .m opinion, but 
a trait of character, a quality of the heart, a state of mind, faithfulness, obedience to 
the dictates of conscience, a disregard of consequences to self when duty is known, 
a disposition to follow out one's convictions when once formed at whatever hazard; 
a firm reliance on God in such a course, feeling and knowing that, howe\-er ilark it 
may look, good and only good can come of following conscience. It presupposes 
that a man has no will of his own, but having found God's will, he knows that // and 
it only can lead to good. It is faith in goodness, in the prevalence of goodness, in 
the triumph of goodness. l<"aith meets with no crosses, for it assures man that the 
path of duty is the path of peace. 

The object of faith is duty, not creeds, — God, not doctrines. It is nothing 
external to man, 'tis a characteristic of his own soul. The reception or rejection of 
all manner of doctrines cannot shake faith from its foundation. Ur. Channing does 
not believe in the plan of salvation, the scheme of redemption ; but nothing can tempt 
him to turn his back upon conscience and shrink from the discharge of dut}-. Mrs. 
Childs does not believe in the efficacy of Christ's blood, but she rests in the right 
hand of God by faith. Carlyle has no creed, but his soul is full of faith. 

Perhaps I do not so speak as to be understood. Take Paul's ilhistration of 
it — he quotes a long list of worthies who were justified b\' faith, to whom it was 
accounted for righteousness. Now, you cannot, with an)- show of reason, count one 
of them as believing your creed, or my creed, or Paul's. What did Rahab the harlot 
know of the plan of salvation ? Is it not plain that the faith spoken of in all these 
instances was something very different from a belief in any creed or even in the 
atonement of Christ ? Is it not plain that it was fidelity to conscience, obedience 1o 
the voice of God, however communicated, a fearless and trustful reliance upon him 
while they pursued the path of duty ? No hesitancy, no consulting expediency, no 
asking pay for doing their duty, no seeking for "assurances of salvation, " but a 
reckless disregard of conseqcnces, knowing that God li\es who always loves the 
faithful man and hates the coward and the traitor. 

Faith ! we are justified by it, not on account of it, not/c/' it, but by it. Faith itself 
secures salvation b)- its own inherent nature. This plan of salvation is as old as the 



1-6 THE A/ASTER OF '^THE GUNNERY." 

constitution of the luinian soul ; it is a spiritual law, the prime law of the soul. It is 
the same with absolute love viewed from another point. I am \\oiit to sa\- to nnself 
tliat faith in man, treacherous as man is, is alwa}-s rewarded, always secures its 
object; that just in ]:)roportion to a man's faith he will meet it a^jain, or if men in 
whom lie trusts prove traitors he is not wounded. Thus, I trust a friend with a 
precious secret; he betrays it; 1 feel hurt, abused, injuretl, but it was because 
1 had objects of my own, selfish objects, because I did not trust (.jod perfectly. 
Then I could not be hurt by treachery ; then I should regard the worst treason to 
me as the ver}' experience which God sent for mj- j^ood ; then should I regard 
the saddest disappointment as the best enjo)'ment which the laws of m\- spiritual 
nature could allow me. 

Faith in God assures man of his salvation b\' making him indift'erent to it, 
unan.xious about it. It says, " Do your dut_\', asking nt) questions about your pay ; 
live above the hope of any heaven for yourself, careless of it, careful only to be 
found in the right path." Whenever I hear one talk about going to heaven and 
escaping hell, or about being saved from the penalt\' of sin, I alwavs think 'tis lack 
of faith leads them to speak thus. If they had more faith, the\' would inquire, 
" What woiildst thou have me do?" and go cheerfully to do it. h'or this reason I 
admire the death of N. P. Rogers. He knew he had been busy about the work God 
sent him to perform, — he was just as much interested in that till the last moment, 
but he hardly thought of his own fate ; he was cheerfully indifferent to that. This 
seems to me the sublimest heroism, the highest triumph of faith in God. He cheer- 
full)- left his fate to God, strix'ing onl)- to keep his soul pure and noble and to obey 
the voice of God as he heard it. It seems to me that when this temper of mind 
attains the absolute, it is heaven, and that until it docs no heaven is possible ; the 
soul is not prepared for it, has not grown to it. 

Now, you think (jod has contrived a plan of redemption b\- which he can save 
those who believe, — very well, but must the\- not trust and obc}' him thus before 
they can enjoy that salvation '■' If we trust him thus, w ithout knowing or caring 
about his i^lan, will it not be the same thing? To leai'n this trust, is it not the great 
discipline of life ? .Shall we attain it? — \_.\'o%'cii/l>ii\ /8^6.'\ 

l.llK .\.\I) DE.XIH ; ri.MK .\M) lyfEK.MTV. 

I should regard death with neither terror nor ecstatic joy. It seems to me tleath 
can neither ad<i to nor take from the soul. I woukl meet it as I would meet to- 
morrow, nothing tloubting, nothing asking. The mighty nu'stery of life that lies 
around me now, in the midst of which I .im, this I have not fathomed. To-day is 
as inscrutable to me, is as vast to my comprehension, as eternit}-. Remember what 
the Weights said to the I'endulum in the f.il.ile, " I'liough xou must tick e\er\- min- 
ute, yet a minute will alwa_\-s be gi\en )-ou to tick in," — on which I say that the 
minute alone is my concern. Do )'ou not remember that grand chapter of Carlyle's 
to which I so often refer? What is time ? Why talk of time and etei-nit\- ? We 
are in the very bosom of eternit}' to-day. The separation of time from eternity is 



MR. GUNN'S U'RITTEX WORDS. 15- 

but a trick of the senses; the soul knows it not ; with the soul eternity is here. Life 
and death arc but diflerent forms of being; periiaps like the vigil and the slumber. 
My business is to grow, to de\elop my spiritual nature according to its laws. This 
depends not upon duration, but upon thoughts, upon the soul's acts. Docs the soul 
grow old in years or in experience .'' Have )-ou not had whole years of experience 
in a few minutes ? Day after day }'ou sleep on, and your mind is smothered like a 
buried fire which burns not ; the spoken word comes, then up starts j'our thought, 
the mind burns and flames again. " I have lost a day," said the sage, when he 
could recollect no good deed done, — good deeds are but thoughts acted out. 

The future I the future ! I know nothing of it. What am I now ? Such am I for- 
ever, except as I grow by thought, cultivating the soul. Why would you then pene- 
trate the mystery of death ? You cannot, any more than you can find the base 
of the rainbow. You may follow, follow, follow, but 'tis a specter after all ; you 
cannot grasp it. Wait and grow wiser by cultivating the divine gift of thought. Lo ! 
the mystery is at an end, — not length of days, but wisdom, virtue, true manliness, 
being what God designed us to be, that solves all mysteries ; nothing else can pene- 
trate the veil. You say beautifully, " She lived a long life of love in her brief 
spring-time." Mven so, and love is of no time, it knows nothing of duration ; love is 
being, all else is death, nonentity, — it i?, gain, all else is loss of the soul. This is the 
doctrine of Jesus as I understand it. — \_Ahniember i, i8.f.6.'\ 



"Pure religion and undefilcd before God and the Father is this — to visit the 
fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unsjiotted from the 
world." 

To this has been added a system of doctrines, or rather a thousand systems. 
This idea has woven itself a thousand institutions, which change as the fashions of 
dress, — all of God, so far as they are good, as every blessing is, — all of man too, 
as every invention is. At times when religion is in decay, when the celestial fire 
grows dim in the heart, these doctrines, ordinances, institutions, are exalted to an 
undue importance ; the symbol takes the place and claims the reverence which is 
due to the reality for which it stands; the institution covers up and hides the idea 
which it ought only to clothe; the shadow usurps the honors of the real substance. 
Think of Romanism, Puseyism, High-churchism, you will see what 1 mean. At 
such time of decay, God raises up some idol-breaker who drives away the usurpers 
and brings out the truth again. Some Moses or Mohammed, a Luther or a Garrison, 
who plants himself once more on the great idea, preaches it with what clearness of 
utterance he has, batters down the dead institutions, and builds others for the truth 
to inhabit once more. Men call it Reformation, but 'tis only the casting off the old 
skin, for a new one is already formed beneath it. 

The present agitation is but the struggle of the soul to achieve a new Reforma- 
tion,— to cast off the old, shriveled, and too narrow skin, that it may expand into a 
laro-er life and more sjlorious existence in the new. The old creeds, the okl forms, 



J ^S THE .\fASTI':Ji OF '^THE GUXXERY." 

are fetters for the new soul, init so much Hdm tlicir inherciU falseness as from their 
usurping its place. I'luis when Ciarrisun callec-l upon the Keligion of tlie land to 
abolish slaverv. she laughed him in the face ; and when he disturbed her death-like 
l)eace b_\' his loud im[)ortunity, she set the mob upon him — the New York Ohscri^cr, 
and kindred prints that represented the Religion then, taking the lead and being 
most unscrupulously wicked. " \Vh\' ! " said she, " I cannot leave my appropriate 
work of preaching the Gospel." " This is the (iospel in a \ery higli sense, in the 
hiij;ltcst pi-actical sense /(';• you at thin time." said (iarrison. " Na\\" she replied, 
"but the doctrines, the ordinances, the institutions, — these I must inculcate and 
defend." Hut as I understand Jesus Christ, as I read the New Testament, Garrison 
was right and the Religion was wrong. The Religion ought to have abandoned 
her creed-making and creed-defending, her worship of institutions and ordinances, 
and abolished the inhuman enslavement of man, as slic had tlic poiccr. That she 
did it not and would not do it, proved her false. That she will not till this da_\', adds 
mountains to the alread\- overwhelming burden of her guilt, it proves her deeph-, 
doubly false. Hut the work goes on in spite of this Religion. Garrison's idea has 
moved and almost revolutionized the land, — it goes on its way to triumph. . 
Do you not remember that the saints in Christ's account of the judgment are repre- 
sented as inquiring, " Lord, when saw we thee in distress and ministered unto 
thee ? " The)- had served God when the_\' thought not of it ; the\' called it mere 
humanity, not religion, but he called it the reality. Perhaps they had something 
else, a creed or formal worship, sacrifices and ceremonies, which they called their 
religion. Christ takes not into the account, reckons it not in tlieir favor at the great 
trial ; but they are leading a life of divine love to man ; and though the\' call it a 
mere subordinate matter, he counts it the great essential. 

I mean this last remark for vou, and leave the matter here with a hearty " God 
bless \-ou." — \_.\'oveiiihcr g, /S^6.'\ 

TEMPEKAN'CE IN POI>ITICS. * 

No village is without some specimens, of the genus Respectable ; sjiecies, sham — 
men who wiekl an infiuence which thev do not deserve, and wield it, too, against the 
cause we are here laboring to promote. The N'arieties are innumerable, but I ha\e 
very little time to spend in their .inah'sis and w ill therefore attempt to treat only of 
a ii:\\. 

Another is the member of a political party, and he begins to incjuire what 
influence his efforts in favor of temperance will have upon the election. It is his first 
duty to save his country once a year on the first Monday in April ; and once in four 
years he feels called upon to save the whole world. He argues, " If we espouse the 

• l)iniii>; the Ino winters of 1845-1S47. ulicn Mr. (.limn was tcacliini^ in \cw Preston, he wa.s 
deeply interested in the temperance cause, and gave se\er.il teni])erance kx'tnres there, and in 
(/iher towns. The manuscripts have been preserved of three of them, entitled '' Inhdehty." 
" Respcctabilit)'," and "The Rnmseller." They seem to be as pertinent to the issues of to day as 
to those of forty vears a"o. 



MR. GUNN'S U'RITTEX WORDS. 



159 



cause of temperance, is there not danijer our political enemies will take the opposite 
side, and that this new question will become a disturbing force, and hinder us in the 
calculation of political chances? It behooves us to stand still till the fog clears awa)-, 
and we can sec how we are likely to come out. Upon the whole, is it not better to 
postpone our temperance meeting till after the election? I wish to give you my 
countenance and cooperation ; but I am a respectable man, my action will have an 
influence. I must look to other interests. . . ." 

Your base, disreputable, despLsed grogshop-keeper is a kind of scavenger. He 
and the Mexican war together, a fit fraternity, may do something to remove the 
rubbish and filth that gather around the basement of our political and social fabric ; 
but >(iur respectable rumseller is preparing new material to choke up whatever 
streets or sewers they may cleanse. Rut yet his respectability shields him from 
censure ; he is clothed in broadcloth ; he purchases the best pew in the meeting- 
house, he makes liberal contributions to the benevolent societies and gives a splendid 
present to the minister on New Year's day. He was appointed, by the assembled 
wisdom of Connecticut, a justice of the peace ; the people of the town have elected 
him a selectman that he may have an opportunity of exercising a fatherly care over 
the paupers he is engaged in making; or he is called to sit upon the jur\- that he 
ma\- bring in a \-erdict of " guilt}- "against the felons created by his traflic. 

— \^Lcctiire on " Respectability. '"[ 

It has been said that a Whig legislature would enact a wholesome, temperance 
law; that they will do it of their own accord I do not believe, for I have no doubt 
but that either part)- would play the part of Judas to the cause of humanity for 
thirty votes. But we now have a Whig legislature ; let us try them, and if thej- 
play the sneaking, non-committal, do-nothing part, bid them never ex])ect our 
votes again. Hut we can compel them to enact a temperance law ; we should 
petition humbh' no more; we should demand it. Let us knock loudl\- at the doors 
of our General AssembU' till the)' <iccede to our wishes. They are the weather- 
cocks of Connecticut ; let us show them which wa\- the wind is blowing. One 
lusty blast, and you will see them all pointing in the due direction. Ever since their 
election the\' have been whiffling and turning at every gust, and the\- stand now- 
aching on their steeples, because they cannot tell which wa\- the wind will settle at 
last. 

You might as soon e.xpect to see an old-e.xperienced weathercock, on an ortho- 
dox steeple, standing stifily out in the face of a north-wester, as to find politicians 
standing out against the popular side. — [^Lecture on "The Rnmsc/Lr."^ 

FRIENDS LOST BY HONEST WORDS. 

in writing I thought of you, how }-ou would criticise, and tried hard to persuade 
myself that I could sa\- all that was required of me to that people without using an 
expression which }-ou would condemn. Hut I could not do it. I'A-ery moment I 
found it more and more impossible to speak to them what I thought would do them 



,6o THE MASTER OE -'THE GCNNERVr 

any good, without using those galhng expressions. I knew that I wrote and spoke 
without one particle of evil feeling toward an)- of them, antl they ought to take it as 
kindly as I meant it. . . . 

Tiic house was perfectly crammed; I spoke about one hour and a half I hope 
they will take it to heart ; by a strong effort of will and a good deal of sober reflec- 
tion I had risen above caring whether they liked it or not, so that they would lay it 
to heart. Some who have treated me very kindly will now in all probability meet 
me with cold looks. It has ahvays been my fate, and it used to be a great grief to 
me that I lose most friends by my most honest deeds and words. Perhaps I grieve 
somewhat now, but it certainly does not affect me as it once did. I have told )'ou 
half a dozen times how I feared to lose your confidence by reason of my heresies. I 
have tried hard to rise above grief for the loss even if it should come, for I cannot 
regard myself as manl}- enough to be worth}' of your friendship until I am able to 
li\'e without it. . . . 

The truth is I am b\- nature too dependent on tlie affection of others, my appro- 
bativeness is too large ; but to conquer it and to cultivate a true self-reliance has been 
a hard work for me. — \_Xovciiibci\ iS^6.'\ 

You say, " 'Tis their perversion of religion stands in the way of temperance. Try 
them by their creed, hold up to them the truths of the religion they profess, repeat to 
them Christ's teachings." Exactly, that is the ver}' thing I did. I told them what 
Christianity demands, and then contrasted their religion with it; that was the head 
and front of my oftending, the very itifidclity of my speech. By the wa\', if I had 
time now to discourse upon faith, I would tell you how in the quiet of my own soul 
I feel the sweet assurance of my fidelity in this matter. In my next speech (for I 
am already engaged to prepare another) I will show that deluded people to whom 
the name infidel belongs. As soon as I can feel that I have risen above any resent- 
ment at the way they have used that word, as soon as I feel and know that I can 
speak terribly severe things in perfect kindness, I shall write another for the same 
latitude. 

When you come to read my speech, tell me if I ha\x- not made the right use of 
words, if it is not titcir religion which upholds intemperance, and if I ha\'e not 
vindicated Christianity ? But they can't bear their exposure ; they are oftended 
at me. Xnw, a remark of x'ours shall illustrate this. You sa\- \'ou were "much 
pleased with the letter to W ." Well, those about whom I wrote are exceed- 
ingly angry at nic lor it; they ha\e been trying to raise a hue and cr\- against me. 
I shall certain!}' lose popularit}' and, perhaps, some friends in consequence of it. I 
wrote not without a consciousness that I should oflend. I knew as I penned each 
line how it would be received ; I knew it when I promised that I would write it ; I 
counted the Cost, but I felt that honor, justice to a stranger, magnaiiimit}' and ni}' 
own self-respect demanded that I should speak and speak [ilainl}'. I felt that it 
would be mean and cowardl}' not to do it, and then when I thought that he was a 
young man among strangers, and how I should feel under his circumstances, I spoke 
out all my heart. 



MR. GCX.X'S WRfTTRX WORDS. i6i 

Of course, whatever befalls nic in consequence, I rejoice that 1 did it. But it 
affords me a great gratification that you, Abbie, saw and felt that it was written 
not in anger, but like a man. It would ha\'c aftbrded me far deeper pleasure for 
this many a year if I could have felt that what I meant for a true and manl)' utter- 
ance of my soul )-ou received and understood as such, and not as tin- jnirposel)- 
harsh and vindictive stinging of a goaded spirit. Oh, )-ou know not what a trial it 
has been to me to speak out and be true to my convictions, when )-ou ha\e thought 
that I was recklessly, or at least superfluously caustic ! I thank (iod constantly that 
you understand me better now, and pray that I may meet vour approval. — {January 

ALLEGIANCE TO TRUTH. 

I tried to feel calm at all times, to feel that if another enjoj'cd j-our love, if I 
could never share it, this would be God's will and I would be content. It was a 
hard lesson ; I had not learned it ; my correspondence with you bears witness to this. 
I could better bear the hate and scorn of all the world than feel that I had forever 
separated myself from you. When the thought came that I must abandon all thought 
of you, or suppress my convictions of truth, it stung me to the cpiick, — I could not 
choose. To gain your love I could not suppress a word that truth seemed to require 
me to utter, I could not. My own self-respect, my sense of divine influence, all that was 
most deep and dear to me forbade that even for your sake I should swallow my soul, 
or suppress the utterance of its deepest convictions. I could not be myself if I tried 
that, and I did not try. Then, I said, you must love me better for being true to 
myself, if you were what I felt you t(.) be, — if God were willing that we two shoidd 
enjoy each other's love, then we must love each other better for being true to our- 
selves. So I tried to make you understand me. — \_Fchniaiy rj, /cV./^.] 



THINKING AND TINKERING. 

I have a faith that God has meant us all along for each other; that he has been 
developing our characters to fit us for each other ; that all our mental experiences 
have been to prepare us for a lo\'e that can ne\-er die. h"or this we quarreled, for 
this we have been friends. I have been an abolitionist to give me mental independ- 
ence, moral courage, and fidelit)- to conscience that I might be worthy of \-ou. For 
this a few brief months of happiness in each other's society has been allowed us that 
we might be more assimilated to each other; but now we are separated for a while 
that we may remember that we are nvo; as Emerson says, " we must be two before 
we can be one." We must learn self-reliance that we may come together two equal 
individuals. 

It has been revealed to me that something like this is the divine jjurpose in our 

separation. It seemed as though I came to find a school, and I did ; but have you 

not observed that all such necessities have a deeper object, that they are designed 

to discipline the soul? All our earthly haps and mishaps, our los.ses and successes, 

2 I 



j52 the .vaster of ^'T/IE GUXXEJiY." 

are designed to show us what niaiiiicr of spirit we are of, and to teach us what we 
(night to be. 

Now, before our marriage, God has sent me far aw a}- from \-ou to try me and sec 
if I am worth)- of you, to teach us both that we are not fit to h\-e together and help 
each other if our souls are not strong enough to bear the pain of separation. Soon, — 
for one winter is but a short time, — soon we shall be together again; then it will 
have appeared that we are every way worthy of each other; then we shall be united 
and begin a new life, — a useful, good, and happy one, I do believe. This came to 
me, Abbie, just as I have now set it down, while I sat down on a window-sill putting 
in a pane of glass. 

This is a rain)- Saturda)- ; I cannot hunt, so I have been tinkering for Mrs. Bull. 
In the forenoon two (.)kl umbrellas that were minus wires and unusable were given 
me to mend. I sat down on the carpet in the keeping-room, spread all the tinkering 
tools about me, and produced two good umbrellas. Since dinner 1 have been setting 
two panes of glass. The windows are hung on pulleys, and I dared not take them 
out, so I shoved \.\\i the sash, took my seat on the sill, heads in and heels out, and 
with a chisel for putt)--knife I did the job as nice as could be. It rained hard all the 
time, but the ea\-es-triHighs kept off the water. Now, I have written ni)- thoughts 
while sitting in that attitude, — )-ou can judge what I thiiik about when 1 ha\ e time 
to think. — \_Tozvauda, /'?., Scp/aubiT j6, iS^j.] 

.SCHOOL DISCIPLINE .\T TO WANDA. 

I had quite a time in school to-da)-. M)- children continucdl)- throw cake, apple- 
cores, grape-skins, etc., on the floor. So a few da)-s ago I told them that the first 
one that I detected in doing it, if a small bo\-, I would write //^t,'- on his forehead antl 
send him home. I have talked to theni every day, and )'esterday made a long 
]ireachment about it. Well, to-da)-, coming into school at noon, I found fragments 
of an apple on the floor. I inquired into the matter with considerable ceremony. 
I talked to them till the)- all acknowledged that m)- law was a reasonable one and 
the penalty a proper one, and that 1 could n(.it with propriety overlook this oftense. 
I asked the boys how the)- had kept the room )-ears before, and they said, " like a 
hog-pcn." After 1 had t.dked enough to make them all feel it, and to make the 
bo)- feel that 1 had not singled him out, but that he had brought it upon himself, 
and that 1 would d(j the same to an\- other one, I wrote the word "hog'' on his 
forehead antl dismissed the school. Then, while the\- were going out, seeing him 
\'er)- much excited, I called hin-| to me alone and had a long talk with him. He 
promised to wear it hon-ie and then wash it oft", and to come to school to-morrow 
with as kind fei-lings toward me as he e\er entertained. 1 think he will, and that 
by this I ha\e done much to break up the e\-il habits of the school. I talked to 
them all the .dternooii till 3 o'clock about such things, and compositions and decla- 
mations, etc.; then dismissed them, and went out to take a game of ball. When 
the Ijall was ripped, 1 went ,uul got a rifle ami hunted sipiirrels till tea-time. 1 
w-ent not more than half a mile from the house, antl killed fue. 1 w.is out onl)- 
two hours. — YScplci/ihr 2i>, /iV/J.] 



MR. GUNN'S WRITTEN WORDS. jg, 

I have not written to you since Tuesday nit^ht, when I finished a lent,' letter to 
you and one to your father and mother ; since that time several things have 
occurred to break in upon the dull monotony of my life. I must tell \-t)u. In the 
first place I gave one of my boys a whipping yesterday. He hatl staid out of 
school one afternoon and then lied to me that his mother had kept him out. When 
I told him to bring a note from his mother to that effect, he forged one. Finallj-, 
there had been loud complaints about stolen dinners for three weeks, and Tuesday 
Orville caught him in the very act. I called on his father, stated the case, and he 
told me to whip him. for the sake of an example to the school I spent a half-hour 
yesterday, before all, in a statement of the case and a lecture to them, and then 
gave him a pretty severe whipping with a raw-hide. Now I mean to take great 
pains with him, and hope to cure him and make a good boy of him. He is a pretty 
boy, and had always seemed very good. I think I gained a greater influence over 
the whole school by this means. I had the ap[)roval of all in the case. — \_Xovcmbcr 
II, 1847.'] 

I ha\-e probably had the stillest school this week that was ever taught 
here. I can hear my clock tick all the while. Most of m\- scholars' stud\- faitii- 
fully, — some few yet have not learned what study means. Many who never studied 
before take quite an interest in it and are making some progress, and next week 
I shall get them all started. I work hard, but do not get tired or out of patience. 
I stay till near 6 o'clock every night hearing Latin and Greek. My boys own 
they like me better for being so strict with them, and sa_\- they will take it patiently 
if I have to cuff them. — \_Antinnji of iS^.'j.'] 

I have just come home from school. No good com[)ositions \-et, so 1 wrote one 
myself, trimming up some of m\' scholars for their habits in school. 1 don't know- 
as the)' will take the hint ; if not, I shall try to make it plainer. 1 hatl a \cr_\- quiet 
school. Formerly they all busied and amused themselves in cutting up capers at 
such times; now the)- all sit quite still and attend to the exercises of the school. I 
ha\e i)unished none, or scarceh- punished, and when I use an\- se\crit_\- I take care 
to make them feel that it is not so much for what they have done as to make them 
remember to do better next time. To give you an idea of how it has been heie, 1 
can tell you a short story. The son of a principal merchant here came to school 
a few .days week before last. Last week I did not see him; this week I learned 
that he brought his dinner every day to his father's store and went there to eat 
it at noon, though he did not come to school. So Monday I wrote to his father, 
telling him that his son did not come to school, and that I feared he was playing 
truant. Tuesday morning his mother came to see me. She felt very badly ; said 
all the boys used to play truant ; that he promised now to do better, and asked me, 
for him, not to expose him. -So now I consider him cured. M\- boys sa\- he has 
always staid out when he pleased, and that they used to do the same. 1 lia\e 
cured them of their filth)- habits, too; the school-room is now kept clean, and 
nothing at all thrown cm the floor to defile it. Now I begin to take some comfort 



164 



THE .VASTER OF -THE G CyNERVr 



in school, — but, nh, when I ha\c \'ou to be with mc, how we sliall enjoy it ! I love 
to love you and to be loved by you ; 'tis the joy of my life. 1 love my scholars, 
anti feel a pleasure when the little t,nrls come to meet me and take me by the 
hand, as some of them almost ah\a\-s do. I feel pleased to see that the boys all 
brighten up at my approach ; but when 1 think of you and our love, then m\- heart 
bounds. — \_Octolh-r _'./, i8-fj.'\ 

THE "COLOR LI.XE " IX HIS SCHOOL. 

I suppose the abolition question will have to come up here and that I shall be 
called upon to sustain the whole burden upon my own shoulders. Hitherto I have 
exercised all the prudence that even your father could recommend. I have not 
discussed the question even among our own family, — not desiring to introduce it, 
and not being called upon by any circumstances to express my opinion. I have 
avoided all religious discussions, and ha\'e contented m\-self with maintaining by 
word and manner those general sentiments of religious obligation to which all not 
inclined to evil can subscribe. I ha\'e been guilty of no rashness, and have attracted 
no observation. I mean to continue in the same course, — neither seeking nor 
shunning an opportunity to declare my opinions ; but it seems caution will not keep 
me above difficulty in this matter. 

Henry Booth * called on me a few nights since, and inquired what I should do 
if colored children came to school. He said a negro, a man of property and intelli- 
gence, who was trying to bring up his children so as to make men of them, had 
called upon him to complain of the jjrejudice which shuts the dark-faced children 
of God from the enjoyment of those means which God designed for all. He could 
send his children to none of the schools, because of this prejudice, and there were 
not negro children enough to maintain separate schools. He wanted to know of 
Booth what I would do if he sent them to me. 

Booth told me it might cause an excitement; it might cause many ]5arents to take 
their children out ; it might break up the school. 

Immediately all our [ilans of happiness shot through m\- head; I saw them all 
dashed to the ground at one blow, and the jjeriod of our union postponed to an 
indefinite future ; for, if I fail here, what am I to do ? Where shall we find a 
home ? 

On the other hand, I saw our brethren groping in ignorance, groveling in low- 
debasement, unable to rise to the light which we enjoy, because they are crushed 
b}- this spirit of ferocious hate, without a friend and without a comforter, shut from 
the steamboat, the railroad car. from the school and college, from the falsely named 
house of God, or onl}' admittetl there to be reminded of their degradation b\- being 
consigned to the negro-pew. Yea, even their hope of lieaven is to be let in at 
some back door, and never admittetl to the thrtine in the presence of the faii'er- 
skinned saints. 

* Now Judge Bdotli, of Chicago, and for many years at the licad (if the Law School there. 



MR. GUNN'S WRITTEN WORDS. 



i6s 



I saw their lot as Fred Douglas feels it, as ever)- negro of fine feelings and keen 
sensibility is compelled to feel it every day of his life, amid a generation of Chris- 
tians in name and hyenas in heart. I answered, of course, that I am no critic of 
skins; that I teach all who come to receive ni)- instructions, and who conduct 
themselves in such a manner as to promote the ends of the institution ; that 1 
never can or will give way to this inhuman and infernal prejudice, — no, not for 
one hour ! 

If I am compelled to relinquish my situation here because 1 cannot sell myself 
to the skin-aristocrats to help them in heaping contempt upon those whom God 
loves as well as he does you and me, — why, then so be it, so be it^ 

Henry approved of my resolution, as indeed no noble man could avoid doing. I 
know, dearest, you will approve of it too. You could never give me all of that great 
heart if I were so unworthy of you as to forget my principles, and unite with tyrants 
in contempt for our brethren ; you could love me no longer if I were once untrue to 
myself, as I never mean to be. I will anticipate your caution, your injunction of 
prudence; and as I know that many words stir up strife, I will sa)- not a word till 
the time comes, and then not one word more than is necessary. I hope to a\oitl all 
serious difficult)-. If God wants me here, he will take care of mc and kecj) me 
here. . . . — \Ttn<'anda, October ?/, iS^j.A^ 

ROGEKS'S " ME.\rniRS " .\N'I) (WRI.VLK's " miscellanie.s." 

I have completed the labors of another week, and have been spending the 
evening in reading. I have just got two new, great books, the life-utterance of two 
God-inspired men ; who are tncii with the fear of God, not men, before their eyes ; 
who have written their own thmights, not what the world asked them to utter. I feel 
refreshed, nerved to new struggles with the powers of darkness, strengthened in my 
purpose to live a life not molded by the world's opinions but by my own sense of 
right, to live from within and not from without; in short, the infinite beauty of 
righteousness lived for its own sake and not for the reward, has shone with a fresh 
brilliancy upon m\- mind. 

I sent by the bookseller here to New \'ork after Cirlyle's "Miscellanies," and 
to-day received the work in one volume, with a portrait which shows a little 
more of his face, and considerabh" more of the .Scotchman, than the one I gave 
you. I want you with me to share its perusal. How we should enjoy it 
together ! 

I also got in the same wa\' another book that possesses for mc a more solemn 
and tender interest, — the writings of N. P. Rogers, — also in one volume, and with 
a portrait of the great and noble-hearted author. You have never learned to love 
him as I did, and could not sympathize in the grief which made many days of last 
autumn sad to me on account of his death. He was one of those ingenuous souls 
that we cling to the more closely, because we find so few we can trust wholly; who 
was open as the sky, quick and keen in his glance as the eagle, and so disinterested 
that he adopted not Christ's name but his idea, and reduced it to practice — a real 



106 THE MASTER OF ^^THR GVXXERY." 

heart-and-soul practical Christian, while those who have adopted Christ's name- 
but deride his principle, call Rogers an infidel. I cannot bear to think that so 
much genuine worth, so much purity of moti\e, acuteness of intellect, and gen- 
erosit}" of feeling is lost to earth. Vou cannot now know how he has strengthened 
me to love and pursue the Right at what cost soever. Oh ! Abbie, my own 
beloved, let us strengthen each other to dedicate our lives, not to the God of creeds, 
but to the God oi Riglit. My heart is all full of feeling now on reading of his death, 
and seeing the features of his face, and the impress of his si^irit upon these pages. — 
\Tozvanda, November j, 1847.^ 

EMERSO.X ,\N1) CARLVI.E. 

I love to read Emerson — what perfect peace, founded on perfect faith in the 
(_~)versoul ! The man seems to have reached his haven, not through a sea of trou- 
bles, trials, and chagrins, which give such harshness to the character of man\- a true 
hero; but, floating in an atmosijhere of quietude, to ha\-e had it all plain sailing 
through life. Misfortunes ne\'er came to him, or else his soul was so stayed c5n God 
that he regarded them not as misfortunes. He ne\er grumbled ; never felt that his 
allotments were not for his good. Then, too, what wisdom is in him, what sagacit\' 
to detect the law nf every fact and its spiritual significance ! He jots down here 
and there a thought: by reflecting upon them gradually they grow into a s_\stem,- — 
although I could not define or expound his philosophy, I yet see what it is. I have 
been lodking into his book to-day ; it has just come home from a tour and I set e_\es 
on it again. It has ever-new meaning. B)' C(.imparison w ilh him I see the faults of 
Carlyle. I remember Emerson in a review said Carljde in "Past and Present" resem- 
bled a sick giant. I could not see the truth of his simile then, for I thought Car- 
lyle's minti eminently a healthy one. But 1 see now in all his works the struggles 
of such a giant; his works are a battle, not a life, a con\'ulsi\-c hea\'ing and rend- 
ing, not a calm and noiseless growth. He is, as he would s.i)-, at internecine feud 
with the lotuns. Emerson is at peace within himself, and for him there are no 
lotuns. Emerson never debates, never contradicts ; he utters, affirms, and leax'es 
the truth, after he has given birth to it, to work its way in the world. — [.\V<t' Pres- 
lon. May, /<iV7-] 

I.OVE'S TRAIMNC KoR I.IKE's DUTIES. 

Our lo\e is a kind of faith, abo\c mere articles of belief, o[)inions, dogmas, and 
doctrines. It implies a union of souls in their higher activities, a blending and 
identification of our bettei' natures ; and it is like severing the heart-strings of us 
both to inquire whcthei' we agi'ee in opinion. \'ou know that I have always been 
seeking the will of God, and to do it. We will prepare each other for the 

great duties of life : how can we best cari'X' out in practice, in our ilail_\- walk and 
conversation, the great idea we both entertain of religion ; how can we best culti- 
vate that lo\e to God ,uid man, that self-sacrificing spirit of infinite benevolence, 



MR. GUNN'S IJ-RITFEA' irOA'/).S. 



167 



which alone can save the soul of man ? Oh, how far, vcr\- far short of this do I fill ! 
how weak and childish am I yet! — chide me, reprove nic, teach me. ... 1 
can see how our separation is designed to work in us a spirit of resignation, to make 
us cultivate the graces of a true Christian character. . . . Our love shall be a 
discipline for a higher love. We have full, perfect confidence in each other now, 
and thus we will aid each other to cultivate a supreme confidence in God ; we will 
aid each other. Alas ! I can promise you but little. Vou must draw me up after you. 
. . . I can see the wise hand of God in our history so much, and can sec so 
clearly what he has saved us two for, that I feel a faith that we shall be united and 
shall live a useful life together. Oh, T pray God that he will keeji you safe and 
happy, that we may love each other through a long life of doing good. — [lario/zs 
Letters from Toweiiida, Pa.. iS.^j.A^ 

TIUJUGHTS ON A SNOWY SABHATH. 

The Sabbath noon, and all is still. The snow is softly falling without. T licar a 
crow from yonder pine-top cawing with a mournful voice. 'Tis an hour for reflec- 
tion on life and death, on man and God. . Shall I be happy after death ? 
Shall I be saved ? Shall I escape the punishment of the wicked ? These interroga- 
tions, however prone we ma\' be to make them, seem to me now ver)- mean, very 
niggardly. I wonder we dare urge ourselves and each other thus. How much 
below this other question. Am I doing the work God meant me to do? Am I 
becoming the man God meant me to be ? 

I know how religious people often answer. They ha\e a string of definitions and 
formulas. They recite these and think the great question of their life is solved. But 
I cannot help going back of their formulas and creeds, and there with no screen of 
texts or hearsays to hide from me the truth ; I ask and answer in a language all m\- 
own. 

We have loved each other long, dear Abbie ; we know each other well. We may 
have different creeds and formulas; we cannot coincide in our definitions, but have 
we not intrinsicalU' the same faith ? We ma}- not agree about the mystery of 
redemption, grace, atonement; these words ma\' mean different things to our two 
minds, but, back of all these, have we not the same faith in the infinite God ? Do 
we not repose in his arms ? Are we not content to leave the future to him, as we 
indeed must ? Ves, underneath our creeds or no creeds, we do both rest on the same 
foundation ; we do both strive earnestly to do and to be that which (iod would ha\e 
us, and the " assurance of salvation " we leave to him. Have I a hojie ? If the 
Methodists ask that question, I answer not at all. I have none, as they reckon it. I 
have something higher than that. I have repose. Is not God my father? Is not 
the world in the hollow of his hand ? Does not this snow fall by his direction ? And 
}-on lonely crow that keeps cawing from the tree-top is not unheeded of him. The 
clouds that gather dark about us are of his sending; let us trust and work on light 
of heart. And this throbbing of the heart, at the mention of your name, my own 
beloved ; this looking toward the east where \-our home is, this patient waiting foi- 



[68 THE MASTER OF -THE GUXXEKVr 

the time, think )-ou it is all unobserved of" him? (Jh, no; our spirits commune with 
each other and with him now, on this still but gloomy da)' ; this Sabbath, while you 
are at church and I in m\- lonel)- chamber, now does my spirit commune with 
)-ours, and both with God. So ha\e I been led to speak of it, to struggle to utter 
thoughts which ha\x' no language. . . . It is in such moments, amid the solemn 
thoughts of God and of m_\' duty to grow to be a man. that I feel 'twas for this he 
gave you me and me to }'ou. None else could be the mate of the other, in this cult- 
ure of the soul; none else could help the other in this work of life. Therefore have 
we been kept for each other till we are mature, till our indi\'idualities are established, 
and now we are to be united and henceforth be co-workers in the work which he 
appoints for us. I bless God always for this. — ^Toivanda, December 2, /<i/7] 

A P.\STORAI. SVMPHOW. 

From m\- window, with a maple on one side and a hone\-suckle in full bloom on 
the other, I hear constantl}- the merry song of the bobolink, the li\-el}- chipper of 
the chimney swallows ; a Baltimore oriole occasionally gives me a mellow note ; or a 
little summer yellow-bird warbles a cheerful strain ; a brown thrush awa_\' o\'er in the 
ilark foliage of the woods yonder is performing a long and varied piece of music ; a 
quail near him ever and anon pours forth loud and clear his " more-wet " ; a meadow- 
lark strikes \\\> at intervals his high, wild warble; a sparrow close by me rattles oft' 
his little song ; I hear children's voices, and my sister singing to her baby; — there, 
what think )'(_)u nf ni)- orchestra? M\ery \'oice is sweet — e\x-ry bird a natural 
singer: they make no discords ; they all pour forth their little souls in unrestrainetl 
libertw knowing nothing of rules imjjosed from without, but each obe\'ing the inner 
])romptings. I woniler if the\- are \-exed with each other, if the\- regard the sudden 
dash of a strange bird into the same bush as an intrusion, if the sudden bursting 
out of another \oice is felt as an interruption. There comes a beautiful, buzzing 
humming-bii'd thrusting his bill into the tubes of the hone_\-suckle; there a gay 
red-s(iuirrel runs laughing up the maple before me — while all the time that I have 
been writing a prett\' chipmunk has been dancing jigs on the flagging-stones, 
and eating his luncheon in the flower-bed. These little creatures act from -within, 
ha\e no rules of politeness, customs, or conventionalities; they are nature's chil- 
dren and obey her laws. Perhaps, amcjng themselves, they seem to differ, — the}- 
ha\c their little quarrels, their misunderstandings, their jealousies and piques, — but 
to us who stand abo\e them and catch their commingled warblings as the\- rise, 
do they not produce a rich and \',iried harmony ? Is, perhaps, all that we call jar- 
gon, noise and discord mingled tn the ear of God with the sweet tones of lo\e, the 
sighing of pit)', the thousand \,'irietl eloquence of brooks, breezes, birds, torrents, 
words of men, chanting of the angels, all blentled into one \-ast swelling harmony — 
one might)' anthem of praise and thanksgiving? 

Xot a single voice escapes his ear. To tliscipline the \'oice that it nia\' sound 
sweet to him, one must cultivate the heart, for we, t(.>o, like the birds, sing from 
within. — [ /(' Mary .)/, Briitimade. June, iSf-6^ 



MR. GC'yyS WRITTF.X WORDS. 



CHARACTER THE SOURCE OK INKI.L'E.VCK 



169 



But you arc afraid of losing your influence — let it i;o then, (iod lias given 
you this influence in consequence of your character. The abuse you have received 
is also a consequence of the same character acting upon a different set of persons, 
namely, nieau persons. Now, one consequence is as honorable to you as the other. 
If, then, upon self-examination, you pronounce your conduct just, in the things 
whereof you are accused, then you ought to be satisfied, let what consequences will 
follow. 

God never meant you should trouble yourself about jour influence — let it go. 
He will take care of that. Live up to his standard as near as )ou can ; keep your 
eye on that — your influence will follow you like your shadow, and will fall soft and 
wooing upon all those wlio stand upon the proper plane. 

The only man who ever lived perfectly regardless of his influence was Jesus 
Christ. They lied him out of it entirel)-, and then he conquered the world by it. — 
\_To Mary M. Briitsmade, January 22, /cVyp.] 

SVMPATHS' WITH ITALIAN LIHKRTV. 

I feel keeni)- upon the Italian question. How infamous it is ! Would to (iod 
Ledru Rollin had succeeded in getting up an insurrection ! 1 never wished for one 
before, but I do now. Why should the French republicans turn the assassins of 
liberty? They are almost as great hypocrites as the Americans who prate of liberty 
and hold the whip over their slaves. I have become used to this meanness at home, 
but it seems doubly mean in those who have just chased away a monarch. And the 
Italian republicans were so noble, so full of wise moderation and magnanimity, so luftj- 
anil pure in their patriotism. The I'rench President, in his message, got off a lie that 
Mr. Polk might have envied (bv the wa\-, Polk was baptized and went straight to 
glory — what with the glory he got by the Mexican war, cant and humbug have 
made both a hero and a saint of him). But ere this Rome has fallen. St. Peter's 
and the Vatican are in ruins, and the Eternal City has been leveled b\- the P'rench. 
Well, Italy will wait patiently for God's own time. I do believe she is yet destined to 
be one great republic I thought Mazzini was the man to accomplish it — I hope 
so still. — \Toivaiida. July 8, /(?7p.] 



So I came home and read Shelley's " Alastor, or the Spirit of Solitude," an 
exceedingly beautiful and deep poem, full of boundless love, pure, ethereal, match- 
less in expression, in conception almost inspired. I have read it many and many a 
time. It ever has a new meaning. What a beautiful soul was Shelley, hated and 
rejected by the world which was not worthy of him. . . He seemed to him- 

self and to the men of his da\- to stand up in defiance of Christianity, while in reality 
he hated only the misnamed Christianity of the unchristian. He dethroned the 
god of the populace only that he might enthrone the " Spirit of Intellectual Beauty," 
22 



I-o THE MASTF.R OF-TffF. G CX .YF A' V." 

tlic spii'it iif li)\c. I'ity th.il he cmiUl not haw seen tlir mcmy at wlmni lie was 
aimini;! I'it\- llial he eon Id not assail a false reliL;ii)n in the name i if Our I'ather, whom, 
iiiuler another name, he ferventl)' and devoutl)- l()\-eil ! I^nt he was tlri\'cn \.o wilil- 
ness, ndt to sa)' matlness, b_\- society, anil thus his work in the world came near bcinc;' 
lost. — [/r/>r//(in' _>;, /S^X.] 

SIKiKI' KXIRAl rs FROM LPrrTHRS. 

[7'o A. I. BriiisiiKhh-.^^ 

1 have been till eleven at .\lmon Keeler's readint^ " Festus " and "Past and 
I'resent.'' " I'estus" is a stranL;e, wild, witty, wicked, i;lorious good book — rich, oh, 
how rich in poelr)-, bra\e <iiid ])rofountl. l'-\er\'body tliat 1 have read it to is 
niiglitil)' t.aken with it, 'l~liank ("md we can enjoy that together if m_\- creed isaskew. 



^'lUl never left the gariK.-n of the soul to be like tlu: sluggard's gartlen ; the foul 
weeds of sin th.it ha\'e foimd a rank growth in the soil of my heart, how few ot 
them e\-er took root in \-ours ! I need to be alone — alone to converse with myself 
1 would not that others should see me disfigured, as the angels saw Satan on his 
\\a_\' In earth. I'cn- me it is absolutely necessary that I court solitude, if I cannot 

court anj'both' else. 

-* # 

.\utumn alwavs inspires me with thoughts and feelings all averse from tiic dreari- 
ness of No\ember. 1 picked scune arbutus, which has alread)' budtled for another 
year. Vou say sometimes it seems loolish to form [)lans so far ahead, but this sweet 
little plant does not seem to think so. It has planneil a spring m.irriage, and God 
tloes not sutler them t<i be disappointed of their end. I si'ud _\du one stem that 
\-ou ma\- keep to foster into perfect bloom fu' )'our bridal wreath. 

[ /"(' Mary M. /h-nisii/ii</(\'\ 

The idbin and the song-sparrow came the first of .\piil, fnit the pooi- birds have 
a hard time of it with snow up to their eyes, and it was melancholy to hear them 
pour toith their notes from the miilst of snows, nudancholy and i)itiful, and \'ct an 
encouragement to man ; for, full of hope, relying on the goodness of God, they felt 
there was a good time coming, .uul in the midst of the gloom and chill of late-delay- 
ing winter still pourtd forth their prophc'tic song. .\nil now we see the pri)phecy 
fulfilled. The}- were the pioneers, the nKU'al heroes of birddom, who bra\'el\' 
breasted the storm ,ind in theii' heaits .mticijiated th.e better da)-. Now, the laggards, 
the common herd, are arri\ ing day by tki)-, and tuning their \'oices as loud as the 
loudest. In a few d,i)-s the stilf conscrvati\'es, the re.il old llunkers, will be here, 
when the spring has come and no mistake, ,ind will sa\- : ■" See what we ha\e brought 
with Us." 



MR. GUNX-S WRITTEN WORDS. 



171 



The fact is( no amount of prudence can shield a nuui who means at all hazards 
to have a soul of his own, from the malice of bigots who ha\'e none. 



Your admiration of Webster is very natural, and has been shared by a lart,a' por- 
tion <5f the cultivated class throughout the country. But when, on an ill-fated 7th of 
March, he turned his back upon all the free principles which he had professed and 
eloquently preached through a long public life, and humbled himself, like a blind 
Samson, to make himself the slave of the slave-power, and urged upon the free- 
men of the North that awful crime of supporting the Fugitive Slave Law, he lost his 
hold upon the Northern heart, without ingratiating himself into the favor of his new 
masters, and " Ichabod " has ever since been written on his forehead. 



You will do well to study whatever bears the name of Elizabeth B. Barrett — 
her poetry is alive and breathes of hea\'en. Do you remember her " Cr\' of the 
Children "? — a noble ])lea for the poor children of luigland. 



1 have been reading Kossuth's speeches in Harrisburg to Abbie. I read them 
all to her. Do you read them, Mary ? If you lose a word 'tis a mighty loss, noth- 
ing can make amends. Seriously, and without a particle of enthusiasm, I do believe 
they are the richest flowers of living literature ; that nothing else written or spoken 
in these days is worthy to be compared with them. 

The logic of Demosthenes, the dignity of Webster, the honesty and fier)- zeal of 
Luther, and all the glow and beauty of a sweetest poet, these are all in him. The 
finest dreamer and the most practical man, the heart of woman and the might of the 
stoutest man. How man)- \'irtues ! and as center and support of all, the firm adlie- 
sion to principle. An unexampled man, how richly he is repaying b}- his profuse 
eloquence all the money, the sympathy, and the protection he is receiving. 

■We are all such tame, niggard, selfish, and altogether vulgar persons. If God 
did not now and then raise up such a moral hero to show us the possibilities of man, 
I do verily believe we should turn into reptiles to avoid the intolerable sense of our 

own meanness. 

* * 

Cultivate your religious faculties diligently. Think boldly, fearlessly ; never 
fear where unfettered thought will lead you. If you are induced to give up man\- 
of your present notions, to become a heretic, never fear nor stop, lest by halting 
from the pursuit of truth you lose your soul. 



For the coward there is no hea\en, neither Christian nor Pagan. 



I 72 



THE MASTER OE -THE GUNNERY." 



'Tis so with tlie Plan of Rctlemption ; the theologian has contri\-ccl a nice plan, 
perliaps the true one; he knows exactly how God can be just and yet justify the 
sinner. He ciphers it all out, and comes to the comfortable conclusion that if he 
believes Christ has offered a ransom, he will be found anions/ the ransomed. 



I think those who conduct public worship err exacth' here : what they call their 
best service is their worst service. Praying, singing, preaching, if done for the sake 
of worship, are useless — nay, evil, because they hide from us the true way of worship. 
The\' do God no good, and e\-er so man\' ascriptions of praise can add nothing to 
his glory. If their influence is to impr(^\-e our own hearts, or the hearts of others, 
to elevate our \'iews and render us more spiritual, they do well — the\' are as good 
then as good talking, good reading ; no bettei', no holier. 



In ni\- opinion, God is ever with us at all hours of the da_\' antl on all tiays i}f the 
week; in all buildings or under the glorious canop)' which he h.is spread over our 
heads; in all kinds of work, whether it be praying and preaching, or mowing and teach- 
ing. God looks into the heart ; sees and knows whether the man is living according to 
the law of the soul, — the highest law which he has made for the development of 
human character, and the realization of a noble man. He sees and knows, without 
our formal confessions in uttered words or counted beads, whether we are grow- 
ing up to the stature of truth and nobleness, of dix'ine manliness, for which he 
designed us. 

I deem a friendship, if it be pure anil high and noble, a beautiful wa\' of wor- 
shiping that God who made us with hearts for the cultivation of the most hoi)' 
affections; and that a correspondence between friends, so it be truthful, instructive, 
the spontaneous utterance of the better thoughts of each to the other, is both preach- 
ing and praying, and if it be beautiful, is singing to boot. So that, although I ,uii at 
home at ni\' desk, I ma\\ and I think I sometimes do, have a nice little meeting all 
alone, while my neighbors fiock to the stee[)le-h(Hise to hold theirs. 



It were better to lose all my frientls, if I must, by being thoroughl)' understood, 
than to obtain them by appearing what 1 am not. 



\_0f a friend^ She worshiped the Father <if all in the .uitique and forever new 
and true way by pouring out the treasures ol her love upon those who needed it. 

* # 

It has been the chief pleasure of my life to be understood and lo\-ed and confided 
in by 'the purest, simplest liearts that I have come in contact with. 



MR. GUKN'S WRITTEN WORDS. 17-, 

CONFIDENCE BETWEEN BOYS AND 1 KACIIERS. 
(Address at a Teacheis' Convention in Hartford, Conn., autumn of 1877.) 

This confidence otight to be like that between bo)-s ;uul a wise father. The 
teacher must often stand in the place of parent, as in the case of orphans, and those 
who are far from their homes. I say wise father, for who does not know that many 
children have parents so iiirwise that their lot is worse than that of orphans ? That 
firmness, that discretion, that patience, that love which the happiest child enjoys, 
btit which so man)- fail to meet elsewhere, these we mtist afford to all, or else we 
fail to fulfill our mission. Confidence in the child's heart is not so nitich a matter 
of reasoning as of instinct ; it slundd not be a thing of growth, but of spontaneous 
impulse. The child shoidd look into his teacher's face and find his heart's-home 
there. 

How shall confidence be inspired ? By what subtle art, b\- what sttid_\' and dis- 
cipline, from what books. b\' listening to whose lectures, in what Normal School 
shall the young teacher prepare himself to enter into the gcnerotis confidence t)f the 
good, and the more guarded, often suspicious, but at last self-surrendering trust of 
the evil ? 

There can be btit one answer to this question. There is but one wa)-. We must 
be luortlty of this confidence, for it can repose only on realities. A generous boy- 
heart may rest on a heart as generous, and on nothing else. You are mean, selfish, 
stingy, perhaps. You attempt to control a school of boj's. But the boys have 
found you out; they have a nickname ready for you. Or \-ou are sour, unloving, 
even tmkind ; do not dare to ask the Io\ing trust of young hearts. My friend, if 
you aspire to teach and train the )'oung, first set your own heart to school ; learn 
the great lesson of reality ; be yourself that which you would train your boys to be. 

I suppose a very mean person may teach little ones successfully many things 
which the)' ought to learn — the alphabet, the multiplication table, etc. But his 
eftbrts cannot go far ; soon his pupils are stunted in some element of symmetrical 
growth. There is an unconscious influence, a mysterious, silent emanation going out 
from the personality of every teacher which is one of the strong forces of nature. 
Silent as the force of gravity, more powerful than the will of man, this influence 
works like the unnoticed electricity of the atmosphere, and makes it certain that 
every teacher will actually teach that which he is. How, for example, can a nar- 
row, selfish, pinched-up man make good readers of a class of boys ? The noble 
sentiments of poets and philosophers are naught to him. His intellect cannot 
receive, his soul cannot contain them ; his cold lips cannot give expression to the 
voice of love, of heroism, of tender pity and generous grief If you would teach 
children to read the grand periods of Milton, you must, in the act, be a Milton )'our- 
self Therefore, I say, //you would enjoy the loving confidence of noble bo_\s, \-ou 
must, first of all, make yourself worthy of that confidence. Let yotir own con- 
science serve as examining committee, and enter the school-room only with a first- 
class certificate. 



'74 



THE .}fASTF.R OF -THE GVNXEKY 



M\- fellow-tcachcrs, far be it from me to judLiO liow mail}- of us can safeh' abide 
this test. With humble head 1 must confess that thouLjli spendinL;' m\- Hfe in teach- 
ing; the \'oun_L;\ .ind receiving; all along man)- tokens of that kn'ing confidence of 
\\hich r speak, \'et I tremble every term lest I be condemned as unworth\' of the 
confidence I do enjoy. 

I remark again, to influence the young get near them. Here, as in the world 
of physics, the force of attraction varies inversely as the sc[uare of the distance. 
Often the feeble, the inferior in capacit\^ in attainments, exert a greater influence 
than their superiors, because they get nearer the object to be moved. You propose 
to act on a child's heart which is set on quite sublunary things; and you, a true stu- 
dent of Nature, have }'our head among the stars. Perhaps you feel }'our own 
importance in the universe of worlds ; and, looking aloft and studying high themes, 
you fail to notice and to understand the little urchin at }'our feet. Or, if )-ou under- 
stand, _\'ou cannot condescend to get upon your knees to teach him. Your younger 
bi'other, who is still half boy and not }'et through college, has won the hearts of 
half the school in a day, while you have reached onl)' a dozen in a mouth. \\'h\- 
stand upon your dignit_\- ? \'ou have these characters to mold and shape into the 
fashion of a di\ine manhood ; follow the e.xample of Paul, who made himself all 
things to all men; and of Jesus, who took ujion him the form of a scr\'ant. To get 
into a boy's heart _\'ou must first get the bo\'-he;irt into you, then bring him up 
with you into the thoughts and feelings of a man. 

I am convinced that there is an immense amount of soul-power lost, because 
teachers liold themsel\-es aloof and ab(ivc their flocks. " Aim high " is a good 
motto when you turn your telcscoi)e upon the stars ; but Cieneral Putnam's order, 
" ;Vim at their waistbands," is often more practical. l'"or one, I am not ashamed to 
have been and to be a boy among boys. And here comes in some consideration of 
Hoys' Rights. We have secured, in some good degree, the right of the slave. We are 
laboring, not without hope, for the right of woman to the vote — when she wishes 
it; but how few, e\-en of the teachers of the land, ever made an)- atlo about "The 
Rights of Bciys " ? We provide schools for their intellectual training, and urge them 
to fidelity in their studies, stimulating their ambition by appliances that are, to sa\- 
the least, of somewhat doubtful propriety ; but what school has fitl_\- pro\'ided ftjr 
the amusement of its pupils ? 

()ur Declaration of Independence enumerates among the inalienable rights of 
man, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. But boys, with their scanty vocab- 
ulary, sum up ,ill their desired rights in one expressive word. Strange that one 
small word should convey so much of meaning to the boy-heart ! Fun ! Ho\'s 
ha\'c an iiialiL'U.ible right to their fun. ()ur Puritan forefathers thought all fun was 
devil worship, and the)- put it under the ban — the)- dro\e it from the family ; the)- 
bolted it out of the school-house, and left it onl\' to harbor in the village ta\'ern and 
the countr)' store. Till within a few )'ears cards have been foi'bidden in our C'hris- 
tian homes. I pleatl not lor an)- special form ; 1 would not admit an)- amusement 
that has the least taint of \-ice ; but 1 do charge \'ou, )-oung teachers, let the box's 
lia\-e their fiiu. Na)-, pi-o\-ide it, preside o\-cr it, protect it from dissipation — j^jre- 



J/i?. GC/A^A^'S ]VRITTEX WORDS. ,-- 

\-ent onl\- the excess ; but do nut bar the tliini;^ itself", rather share it w ith them. 
How much of a boy's lite is comprised in that one word ! How much of liealth>- 
discipline, of both mind and bod)-, it may bring ! While sharing, directing wisely, 
and cheerily helping on the fun, without any lowering of your high, moral stand- 
ard, or of your cherished dignit)-, you may easily find your way into the boy-heart. 
I am persuaded that very much of dissipation, the contamination of bad company 
the frequent corruption of taste and manners, and sometimes loss of all, that is 
mourned in our higher institutions of learning, would be avoided if some rich and 
wise friend of each college would endow therein a Professorship of Fun. I think it 
might go far to prevent the hazing which in some colleges has become a barbarism, 
if some genial tutor or professor had it for his care to prepare the Sophomore class 
to entertain with suitable plays, games, and even theatricals, the incoming Fresh- 
men. An evening thus spent in a social and friendly way would tend powerfully 
to establish just and kind relations between the classes and bring them to acknowl- 
edge every student as a brother. Hut, if not necessary for j'oung men, surely the 
boys should ha\e their fun. 

I must refer to one more topic where, I think, our teachers often fail to enjo\- 
and to utilize the cunlidence of which 1 speak. Having earned and secured the 
faith of your best bo\-s, now use it for their good and the good of the school. Good 
order, \irtuous contlucl, nioi-al habits, a pure heart, and a clean tongue — these are 
essential to the life of any school. All really good boys love these as you do ; it is 
for their interest as well as yours that these should be preserved uncontaminated. 
Your boys are moral agents as well as yourself They know the right — they love 
it ; now let them learn to defend it. I think many teachers are content to live 
autocrats, holding the reins of government in their sole hands, asking no sympathy, 
sharing no responsibility with their pupils. I cannot believe that this is the duty of 
an educator. You cannot make your school government a democrac)-, perhaps ; 
\'0u must reign, 1 suppose ; but cannot the throne be advised ? Can you not, u])on 
occasion, call an advisory council of boys ? All moral intelligence must be exer- 
cised to grow strong and become a moral force. The bo\' who knows right from 
wrong, and loves the right, must be trained to stand up for the right, to fight for it 
with his feeble arm while )-oung, and then he will be qualihetl to be a champion of 
the truth when his muscle is mature. Therefore, call _\'our boys to be judges of 
right and vindicators of it. If they love you they will be glad to help you ; demand 
their help, their moral judgment, upon all questions that arise in school. How 
much of instruction, of diill in the work of moral criticism, and how much strength 
of determination )'ou may inspire in them b}- this means? How sadly we need 
men ! — men who have the courage of their convictions, who will not lie, and who 
will not hold their peace. Let us train them in our schools to be morally intelli- 
gent and brave as boys that we may prepare a generation of men. y\ssuredly all 
good and faithful boys will share the confidence of their teacher. They will have 
no adverse confidence. They cannot be bribed or frightened into covering up a 
fault or crime. Not as spies, not as informers, but as faithful citizens let them share 
with you the responsibilities of advice, and, in the la.st resort, of judgment. 



176 THE MASTER OF ''THE GUNNERY:' 

There is a doctrine adverse to this prevalent in schools, which makes it the duty 
of pupils to keep the secrets of the yuilty — to keep the guilt)- secrets of those who 
would lead them downward to jjerdition. This doctrine is the dex'il's own gospel, 
and, so far as accepted, blunts the moral sense of its victim, makes him the slave of 
the worst elements in a school, and mars and destroys that sympathetic, generous, 
loving confidence which must always exist between ingenuous youth and a teacher 
whom they love. I am persuaded that a false principle and a fatally injurious prac- 
tice prevail in many schools upon this point. Teachers are afraid to consult their 
scholars; boys are afi'aid to inform their teachers of the wrongs that e.xist and from 
which they are destined to suffer by a secret but swift contamination. The con- 
scientious child, very likely one of the weakest in physical strength, comes to tell 
\-ou that a certain one, older and smarter than himself, is a bully, and is e\-ery day 
exercising his t\-ranny over the small boys. He wants to tell }-ou in confidence, for 
he is afraid of the bull_\-'s vengeance. Moreover, the other boys, for whom more than 
for himself he speaks, will regard him as a tell-tale and stigmatize him with <.ine of 
those opprobrious epithets which their vocabulary, rich in epithets, fui'nishes for the 
occasion. What will )'ou do ? Tell the little fellow to go away and bear it ? Will 
you hear him in confidence, keep his secret, and thus make him a spy? Will \-ou 
go through life skulking and hiding, and sp)'ing yourself? No! fold the little fellow 
in your arms ; let him stand up before the school sure of your protection ; make the 
charge boldly, and thus become the champion of his mates. There is a right and a 
wrong in this matter. Where is it ? Good government is right. Confidence 
between teachers and their pupils is right ; and this monstrous doctrine that it is mean 
for a \-irtuous boy to complain against a vicious boy is wrong. What is the dut}' 
of a good citizen in similar cases in life ? I insist upon it that bo)'s shall be trained 
up to be good citizens; brave to grapple with wrong-doers and bring them to justice ; 
and they shall not, while young, be traineil to be the secret slaves of evil-doers. 
For, see, if a bo\' of pure heart keeps a guilt)' secret once, he will again and again. 
He finds no occasion to revolt — he grows familial' witli the sin — he learns to lo\'e 
it at last and to practice it himself 

But men say, " Will boys thus conscientiousl)' bear witness against their mates ? 
Will you have a school of tale-bearers? " 'I'he answer will depend ui)on the teacher. 
A friend of mine, a teacher, and at the same time a preacher of the Gospel, went 
to ask advice of another, — a Doctor of lji\init)', who was also a teacher, — how 
to manage his school so as to make it grow in numbers and in excellence. After a 
long interx'iew the Doctor, with impressive voice and gesture, ga\-e \\\\ friend this 
parting acK'ice : " Remember, sir, e\'cr)' bo\' is a born de\'il ! " If that declaration is 
true, or even if you believe it to be true, it is altogether jirobable that no bo\' 
will coiiie to )'ou with an)' complaint. I^ut if, i.m the contrar)', )'ou find bo)'s as a 
general thing true-hearted, lovable and lo\ing ; if you find the evil still so full of 
good traits that )'our heart will not gi\e them up, then such confidence will spring 
up between you that, in all fidelity, )'ou will be one. A school of tale-bearers ? No! 
the talc-bearer cannot li\'e .miong )'ou. lie will not dare to approach )'ou. You 
will know the sneak .ifar ofl', and he will lun and hide himself Vou must jKirdon 



MR. GUNN'S WRITTEN WORDS. 177 

me if r allude tn nn- (iwii experience. As I write there rise up before me in visions 
of memory dear little ones, the iiviny, and, al.is ! the dead, who stood uj) boldly 
before the school and manfully bore their willint^ and eager testimony against some 
big sinners — not with an}- tremblint;, with no shadow of reluctance, but calmly 
and cheerfully as the proper tiling for them to tlo. Did 1 protect them ? Never! I 
only asked the judgment of the school. "As man\- of you as feel in your hearts 
that little Dick has acted nobly, and will defend him against all harm, will ri.se ! " It 
is astonishing how tall boys will suddenly become on such an invitation. You need 
never trouble yourselves about the safety and happiness of the little fellows who 
confide in you, if only \ou deserve their confidence. 

My fellow-teachers, if you were required to repeat the most momentous statement 
ever expressed in human language, you need not utter but three words — "God is 
Love." On this simple but sublime declaration hangs the Christian religion and 
whatever is of value in all the religions of the world. Love is the genial, all-per- 
vading atmosphere w'hich we must breathe, if we would ho[)e to do our dut_\- in our 
chosen sphere. I ha\-e in m\' mind an ideal of a school. (\'ou will pardon me; I 
was asked to speak of confidence between boys and their teacher, but, ])roperI\' 
speaking, an ideal school should be composed about equally of bo_\-s and girls.) I 
have no time for the picture — a few traits must suffice, 'riie school is situated in 
the country, or, if in the cit)-, the generous cit\' fathers lia\e afforded it liberal space 
with trees and flowers — ample play-grounds kept scrui)ulously neat by the boys 
themselves. The buildings are not only commodious, but picturesque and attractive 
The teachers are large-hearted and loving, and absolutely free from dyspepsia or an)* 
morbid tendency. A morbid teacher will communicate his favorite distemper to 
his'whole school in one term. The bo)'s are from all classes in society, and of all 
degrees of goodness, — and also of many degrees of badness, — just as they have 
always been from the time of that little kindergarten outside the city limits of Eden. 
You enter ; the atmosphere is warm and genial. Love and confidence shine in 
ever)' face, breathe from ever_\- lip. There is fun and frolic in every c\'e \'<)u catch. 
A martinet in education would probably consider it a scene of confusion and disorder. 
He would first convert the boys into little machines, receiving their motions from 
one large wheel, himself. But in this school of which I dream, there is co(")peration, 
there is helpfulness, and, so far as the laws of Nature will permit, ecpialit}'. All 
moves on in harmony and peace. Ottenses come, of course. The teacher becomes 
impatient, sometimes unjust; but when he sees his error, by true repentance and 
self-humiliation, by hearty confession and apology, he heals the wounded confidence 
and makes it firmer than before. Some boys are disobedient or neglectful of duty; 
but they are soon found sitting, clothed and in their right mind, by tlie teacher's 
side. Now, into this little paradise comes a serpent, one of those bo)-s wise in wicked- 
ness above their years, who pass from school to school, polluting all. He re\-eals 
himself to one and another, and pledges them to secrec)-. To the teacher he is fair 
and plausible, and with an air of freedom which a magnanimous teacher loves to 
meet. How sure is the new-comer to diffuse his poison unobserved ! But no — some 
boy of more sensitive conscience perceives the venom. He warns his associates; he 
2.^ 



178 



THE Jf ASTER OF ^'THE GUXXERY." 



confers with liis teacher; lie arouses an opposition to the evil. A dozen x-outhful 
wits arc set to work, not to entrap, not to punish, but to prevent mischief; to 
reform, if possible, — at least to guard the unsuspecting from the threatened danger. 
A hundred secret, silent influences are brought to bear upon the e\il one. He is 
surrounded by the strongest moral forces these bo\-s know how to wield. All the 
strategy of moral influence is called into exercise. Some by tender sympath\% some 
by strong rebuke and threats, some by avoidance — all arts are tried. The rebel, 
who has spurned the discipline of a dozen teachers, cannot withstand this ubiquitous 
and multitudinous attack. He yields, repents, and joins the little army of his cap- 
tor and becomes a faithful pupil e\er after — in the ideal school. 

Hut ha\'e you found, do you know such a school ? My friends, 1 am compelled 
sadlv to answer, Xo ! I have ne\'er seen it, onl\' dreamed of it. It \\ ould be a safe 
place. Oh, how safe a retreat for many a lo\-el}- boy of feeble will I If such confi- 
dence between teacher and scholars could prevail in any school, how soon would it 
be filled with sons of widows endowed with little power of control, of acti\'c' busi- 
ness men too much absorbed in money-making to pay much attention to the one 
duty which God laid upon them when he gave them sons ! I ha\'e never found 
such a school. I do not e.xpect to find it ; but is it not a pleasant thing to dream of? 
Is it not in some measure possible? Is it not to be found, if ever, in the line of our 
dailv work ? Is not the virtue inspired in the boy's own heart more likely to live 
and bear fruit than that which is implanted there by sovereign authority, and nur- 
tured only on didactic precepts and rules strictly enforced ? Absolute confidence 
between boys and teachers is essential to the realization of any such dream. Our 
government is a democratic republic. Ihe people are the source of power — from 
them are to come the administrators of affairs. We have schools, public and private, 
to prepare the }-oung to take their fit places in the State. The certain and safe 
ground on which our State establishment of schools can be defended, is the absolute 
necessity of education to the safety of the State. Standing on this ground we can 
justly and wisel)- make some salutar}- measure of education compulsory upon all the 
children of the State. The man of wealth who refuses, or grumbling and under pro- 
test consents, to pay his school-ta.x, deserves to be cast out and to gnash his teeth 
in utter darkness. We are all agreed that a few elementary branches, the rudi- 
ments of an education at least, shall be taught to all the children of the State. 

Now, what 1 urge is this : That along with mere instruction, and as the best way 
to thoroughly administer the laws of order, there shall be not merel\- didactic teach- 
ing of these laws, but such discipline, and drill, and training in their exercise and 
application as shall send the youth u]) to the polls accustomed to the practice of 
judging and deciding u|)nn the tpiestions that arise, thoroughly educated out of that 
lazv, stupid habit of non-committalism which is one of the worst hindrances to the 
execution of the l;i\\s, .and often in the individual is an utter negation of all man- 
hood. To this end let teachers not only liaxc- confidence in their pupils, but in a 
large sense depend upon them. \\\\y ai'e not _\-our illegal grogshops closed ? You 
say, " Public sentiment will not sustain a ]irosecution." j\I\- friends, it is n(*t the 
fault of an impersonal jniblic sentiment, it is the moral cowardice or la/.\- non- 



^fR. ar.v.v's \\-ritteiv words. 



179 



committalism of the average citizens who ought to control and inspire, and, upon 
occasion, exasperate public sentiment to act. Boys are easilv impressed. Before they 
harden into men Hke ourselves, let teachers see to it that tlK\- are thoroughly drilled 
into the exercise of moral judgment and courageous action in the little world of the 
school. So shall they do us honor by their manly action in the State. 

Such, my fellow-teachers, are some of my thoughts upon the to[)ic — "Confidence 
between Boys and Teachers." They have grown up in my mind in accordance with 
my practice, rather than as the leading cause of that pracliee. I mean to say that 
I did not adopt them as theory and then proceed to carr_\- them out in practice, but 
that having no theorj- I have but described the customs that have grown uji under 
the motives and influences that arose from da\- to da_\-. 1 am told they are peculiar. 
Whether peculiar or not is a question of no conse(|uenee. But are thev just? Are 
they wise ? Judge \'e. 








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